#as loathe as i am to admit a different quirk would make him a better hero...

[cyber-phobia]

Blurst idea. Manman given one for all. After he stops spontaniously breaking every bone in his body would he do well?

Initially I was going to say no, but since Manman's weekly beat downs are NOT the product of him being self-destructive but actually his terrible luck...

I'd say yes. He'd be a great hero!

[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 4| I Am Thee and Thou Art Me

Chapter Summary:

The action's you do is for survival and no other reason.

You don't understand other's actions though.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

Chapter Warnings: Mental/Emotional Anguish, Toxicity, Self-Loathing

A/N: Bottled beer is liquid hope and you love pictures.

Footnote: Translations at the bottom.

“Bell” Second Life 08:16 | February 26, 1981 West Berlin, Anita Wronski Cafe

“Looks like you’ve met death in the face, Bell. Rough night?” Lazar questioned, poking fun as they grabbed breakfast for everyone in line.

You rubbed your eye before pinching between your brows.

“Something like that,” you said tiredly as you  looked around the small cafe. Distantly taking note of Lazar’s statement with a dry smirk. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Small metal tables inside with metal chairs to match, both with interesting swirls for patterns making up the surfaces. There were more outside, the cafe a bit cramped in the first place even with just three tables again the wall. The smell of sweet German pastries and salty breakfast flooded your nose, making you lick your lips despite yourself not being hungry yet.

You were already up an hour beforehand, wondering to yourself how you and Adler could be in the car once more into the safehouse. Only to ‘volunteer’ when Lazar knocked on your door to help him grab food for everyone, apparently Adler already gone and left to the safehouse.

You internally frowned at that, you’re not sure why before you felt grateful. You would rather not talk about. . .whatever happened in his car. Which was nothing.

The flash of a clenched hand on the wheel as if holding back and a taut jaw came to the forefront of your mind.

Marionette’s should stick with their role.

It was nothing.

Lazar snorted, making you turn towards him as they both stepped up to the cashier. Lazar pointing towards the dessert window of what to get in a box as you spoke in German to the woman. Several more items of breakfast were ordered that will take some time to make, so they moved to sit to the only open table inside the quaint café.

“You drunk what—four cups of coffee yesterday, Bell? And looking at a bunch of nonsense for hours as if your brain is steel and your eyes can’t melt out of your head.” What a nice vision. Lazar took a sip of the German coffee he got for himself, eyes lighting up at the taste before looking back at you. “All that must’ve been stuck in your head and probably even in your dreams. Had any floating codes flying around your mind as you slept by any chance?”

That’s not quite right, but you’ll take the excuse handed to you as you shrugged. Lifting your own cup of coffee that you doused in three creams and two sugar’s, humming for a moment in agreement to Lazar at the strong and bold taste before taking another one.

“You can say that. I would have kept going and working until I got tired. You would call me a night owl so to say.”

“You seem pretty alright to me now,” Lazar observed as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have an impressive work ethic. Better than others I think. I’m used to going to sleep late and waking up early.” You can infer that your body is used to this schedule, harsh and strict work ethic that you must’ve gotten when you worked with Perseus. “Although, I admit I’m not very hungry right now. You chose a bad partner in this.”

“But you volunteered,” Lazar stared ever so seriously and another sip to his coffee. You could see he was fighting a smile.

You huffed through your nose, shaking your head.

“Yes. How could I have forgotten. Like I did for Kraus.” Lazar slightly winced at the reminder of how you got kidnapped, muttering an apology which you waved away. “It’s fine. I was the best to do that anyways.”

“You sure are pretty accepting with all this work. Just asking and taking files like nothing, ” Lazar rose a brow, you couldn’t tell if it was for being impressed or disbelief. You didn’t say anything to that, the both of you just sipping on their coffee and waiting for their meals to take to the car before heading back to work. You’ll walk past the center table easily and just sit in your chosen desk. Maybe get a lecture about professionalism which you will just absently nod at since you will make yourself feel numb if you have to, just to get away from the man in any way. Lazar paused at your far away look, your cup by your mouth yet you’re not drinking, instead of looking at a simple framed painting of Germany’s hills at the wall. ". . .As much as the boss man likes to act like it, we're not machines,” you blinked out of your reverie, your eyes flicking towards Lazar. “You're not either. Even though you understand numbers with little pattern and words that would have no connection normally—be able to put it together and have it make sense."

You blinked once more, albeit slower.

"I...I know I'm not a machine."

"Do you? Acting like you don't sleep and eat, besides those seeds of yours like you're a bird yesterday outside of the one meal I brought you. Do you sing too?" You released a surprised laugh at that, short as it was with lips still up. "That's better. Thought your lips stay flat like that. I swear, it seems both you and Adler are obsessed with Perseus. See why you're his protege now."

You were struck at Lazar’s words, focusing on him with a frown. The implications that the both of you were similar making you look down.

“Guess we're two peas in a pod.”

You mumbled the last bit, as if to yourself as you lowered your cup on the table.

"What? Oh. . .guess you could say that. But remember this Bell," He throws a pastry at you as you quickly catch it before it met your face(you would always have to be prepared for that before), blinking down at your hands before looking at the kind faced Lazar. "Lighten up. We'll get him so don't push yourself so much. And eat real food too! Seeds! As if that's food."

Your mind showed you moments from your previous life, Lazar always teasing and making you eat and try as much as different food as possible. Away from your decryption tasks as he would wave your plate under your nose as if to entice you.

“No point in being greedy,” The kind man would say, wry smile playing his lips with a tone to match, after letting you try food from his plate, even encouraging it. “Memories—memories with food should be savored and light and new dishes should be enjoyed.”

You thought of when you first found out the truth, still recovering from wounds of Cuba as you sat—away, away from that gurney—and guilt with Lazar—should’ve been quicker, perhaps you would’ve been kinder, kindness is a lie—and asking Park if Lazar knew. About you. About this. MK-Ultra. Everything.

You stared at the Israeli man for a moment before smiling, a mischievous thing. Genuine. Like the man in front of you.

"I am smaller than you, it's enough for me."

"Now you're just poking fun."

Lazar was always kind.

Oh, how he played his role perfectly for you.

At this point, you’ll take what you can get and stop wondering with him. You’ll go mad.

Foolish американский щеноk. The collar around your neck has choked all the trust for others in you.

Best, you think as Lazar easily teased you again, an unreadable look in your eyes as you take another sip of your drink. To just not feel at all.

The breakfast the both of you ordered came, Lazar grabbing the bag as movement behind the counter caught your eye. A worker bringing in a new dessert towards the other German sweets, yellow and round and looking spongy similar to a cake but with a crust like a pie. You walked back up to the counter, pointing and asking the worker in fluent German what was that. Her replying with a smile that it is their pineapple kasekuchen, the German’s take in a cheesecake.

You turned your gaze to the sweet, lost in thought before raising your hand with two fingers up to order, the worker nodding.

You grabbed the box and walked up to the curious Lazar by the door, his brow arched as if asking a silent question. As the both of you exited the bakery and walked towards the car, you still not saying anything and only periodically glancing down at the box with the kasekuchen, even tightening your grip a tad around it when the crowd around them got a little too close, Lazar decided to speak.

“You know,” he began, and you took note that he sounds amused. Almost knowing. You pretended to stay oblivious. “There was this mission I was on in Thailand with Adler a few years back.” At the mention of Thailand, your memory of yesterday in Adler’s car still fresh, you looked towards Lazar as they walked. “Something covert and recon with the usual stray chance of a suicide bomber. The standard for our great unpredictable job. Keeps us in our toes.” His tone was a mix of sarcasm and easygoing, as if suicide bombing in a country was like if he stated it’s going to rain again. Where is he going with this? “Anyways, when we weren’t doing that—we’d stop at this corner store near the safehouse we were in. Boss man would always buy his precious cigarettes, leaves the other stuff we need to actually sustain us to me. Except, he would get something else too. To eat and I always thought each time I saw that, that Adler is human after all.” He glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Do you happen to know what it is?”

You huffed, turning your head away. Them reaching the car and you going to the passenger side as Lazar stood by the driver’s side—still unopened and leaning his crossed arms on the top of the car.

“You sure like playing games today,” you dodged with quirked lips, shuffling the box in your hands to hold it in one as you moved your free one to open the door. “Volunteering me again and calling me a bird and now having me guess what a man like Adler would get besides his addiction. You want to talk about machines, look at him.”

How the puppet lies so so sweetly.

Lazar hummed, deciding to open the car and the both of you going in and settling as they placed the bags down by you to make sure none of it spills. After they pulled out from the space, Lazar spoke once more, offhandedly and an interesting turn of the lips.

“Pineapples sure are sweet and tart. Pretty good too.”

You don’t say anything.

Just made sure your hold on all the boxes of food for everyone didn’t tip over as Lazar would turn. If your grip with the kasekuchen was firmer than the others, you didn’t notice.

Feed the god and you might get a reward.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You squinted behind your closed eyes, shifting in your uncomfortable sitting position in the foxhole with only dirt and soil to help cushion you within the trench like pit. The crickets were loud, deafening in the jungle with a periodic squawk or call from a bird deep within. You shifted, your M-16 moving down in your lap from the movement  despite your lucky green cloth gloves holding it as you blearily opened your eyes, blinking them against the darkness until they got used to it. The half moon helping somewhat in giving light as well as the fireflies flying around in the dance where only they heard the music.

They were still on their way to Hue City, night coming upon them quicker than expected. The jungles are harsh and thick, especially with the route they’re taking due to their stealth and recon mission, but the planned route was still underestimated. It did not help the planned foxhole they were going to got covered, completely useless and the time to make another one is time they don’t have. Luckily, they were able to find another, although this one was tighter. Two small foxholes that barely fit the five of you, hence having to sit basically in a ball against the wall of dirt behind you.

All of you were doing one hour intervals in keeping watch, the watcher usually standing up in the foxhole in order to watch their surroundings. And if an attacker did come, they could duck within the foxhole for cover.

You felt like you should’ve woken up for your  shift already.

Your eyes focused next to you, finding the spot where Larson was supposed to be standing empty. You hastily stood, pack heavy against your back as it tensed in protest at the sudden weight, your hands tight against the M-16 and about to call the other’s names at the missing soldier only to stop.

Your standing position giving you new access to see more besides the sky above you, surrounded by brush and green foliage of all types with high grass upon the ground. Larson sat, just a few inches away from the foxhole a little to your right, staring up in the starlit sky. He turned his head towards you at the sound, seeing you were awake before turning his head back, as if you weren’t there.

“Larson,” you whispered, not wanting to wake up the others in the foxhole next to yours. When Larson didn’t move so the two of you could switch, you reached out to tug on his pack on his back. “You can’t be out in the open like this. You don’t know if VC or NVA might come by in the area.”

“Let them,” Larson said brazenly but just as low, making you release his pack in surprise. “Besides, there’s a bunch of shit around here to cover us. Even this grass is kinda covering my face. Nothing will happen. Now, go back to sleep and leave me be.”

You stared, before sighing. Carefully looking around once, twice, before coming out of the foxhole as quietly as you could—using the open holes on the dirt walls to place your feet to get out. You sat by Larson, who ignored you and went back to staring up at the twinkling sky.

You took a moment to stare at it too. This far in the boonies, away from cities and cars and just filled with wildlife, it has a sort of bewitching air around it. Despite the loud chirp of the crickets, the call of the birds, and how one would sometimes have to smack any open skin for stubborn mosquitos—the trees, the grass, all the greenery that looked dark in the night outside of being lit by the fireflies and the stars and moon above. You were struck once more, just how beautiful this country was. With it’s natural serenity as the moonlight not covered by clouds touched lightly upon to aid somewhat with the darkness but not as much as a flashlight would do, still, the moon did its best even if it was just at it’s half tonight. The stars were there to support it and you wish you learned more about constellations than your books, you’re sure you could spot all of them and weave stories of your own instead of reading them.

“You know,” your attention shifted to Larson, who still gazed up as he spoke, lost in thought and appearing away from here as he spoke quietly. He does not wish to wake the others it seems. “I don’t know if you remember me telling you this, but I grew up on a farm. Small. Not very fancy and it was just me and my family—Ma, Pa, and my two brothers and sister. Out just taking care of our cattle and our horses. Middle of nowhere, we would have to drive about an hour to get to a good grocery store that isn’t just a corner store or gas station. I hated it more that the closest school was about the same length. . . But what could I do? Needed an education, at least some, and than spend the rest of my life worried about a farm. With all it’s cow and horse shit, waking up before the sun does and at the end of the day you smell like all the shit you cleaned up.” He ended, sounding tired and yet with the bitter words it had an iota of equal bitter amusement.

You maintained your silence, instead moving your gaze back and forth around them. Not looking at how Larson’s lips quirked begrudgingly, head tilted up towards the silent night.

“. . .there were a few good things though. When me and my brothers and sister were done with work, and the moon was out—we’d head out to where the cattle were. Laying down on the grass without a care, why bother? We were already dirty with sweat and dirt and shit. And we’d look up—and than—“ Larson reached an arm out, as if to reach the sky, only to clench his hand and put it down back by his lap before gripping his MP40 hard where you could spot how white his knuckles were. “. . .laying down, in the grass, in the middle of nowhere, with just a dark black sky over you. . .it felt like it could swallow us. Whole. Not caring about how we looked or smelled or how old we were. . .it made us feel small. Yet huge. If we pretended enough, we could act like we can really touch the moon. The stars. I guess it just showed all of us there was more, than this little farm. With it’s shit and it’s smell and being in the middle of nowhere. The black sky might just eat us to put us out of our childish misery. Maybe that’s also why we kept going back, not just cause of fucking beautiful it was, but maybe. . .”

Larson trailed off and you decided to speak up, softly. Not wishing to break this odd aura around them, because this was more than talking about how small a human’s life is.

“‘If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you,’” you quoted, Larson cocking his head slightly and glancing at your from the corner of his eyes. You released a small fleeting smile. “It’s a quote. By a German philosopher called Friedrich Nietzsche. A depressing guy but. . . I feel like his words fit. The abyss swallowing. . . perhaps it is more you become one with it. A fusion. Where you don’t know where you begin and the abyss ends.”

Larson turned his head away, grabbing a handful of some grass and pulling as he moved his eyes back up.

“Who knows? Maybe. . . shit,” Larson dryly chuckled, “maybe, I should’ve stuck with staring up at my family’s farm home—staring up this abyss right here but there instead. Than maybe. . .you know, I would say sappy shit in my letters to her?” You didn’t ask who ‘her’ was, you could fill in the blanks as you wisely kept silent. “All words about the moon and stars and we were staring at the same one so I wasn’t that far away cause we stared up at the same thing’s. That she had stars in her eyes and if I looked up, I could see her in them. That she pulled me to her like the moon does water and just—shit. Fuck. ”

Larson hissed, putting his head to his hands. His shoulders slightly shook, you could barely tell in the darkness but you imagine he is holding himself back.

“I loved her,” Larson said, voice all cracked and broken as his breath hitched. “I love her still. And she’s—she’s leaving. What will I have when I come back? Go back? I—there’s nothing. We were. . .I went to war for  her . Our  country .”

You kept your mouth shut. Letting him release his sorrow and emotionally charged words that made zero sense such as that. You learned, especially on the beach night, it is not wise to depend on another’s support when it comes to actions of war.

You didn’t even give Larson the full quote earlier either. You do not think he needed the full one, but you know yourself what Nietzsche was going for. You think Adler might like it actually.

Eventually, you managed to put Larson back into the foxhole as you took watch by him. Standing in the foxhole as you did your shift. A few minutes officially in however, you took note of noise in the foxhole next to you. You turned your head, noticing Adler’s head was out, helmet on and war paint slightly losing their color. You can see his stubble starting to really come in now. He had his shades on, even at this time, in this darkness—but you could tell he was staring at you. Something clicked as you lightly sighed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

You nodded, turning your eyes around their surroundings with your M-16 in front of you and gripped at the ready just in case.

“You left something out,” Adler said after a while, voice low to not wake the others that it sounded husky to your ears. You glanced at him, brow raising questioningly as Adler’s lips lifted to a knowing smirk. “I don’t know much, but my high school education isn’t too laughable I think. I know that quote. You missed the whole beginning and just gave him the end.”

You blinked, before shrugging as you peered up at the sky for a moment.

“He didn’t need the beginning. Just the end.”

“Some might call that yellow journalism. Or lying.”

“Others might call it wise,” you retorted lightly. “He didn’t need to know it. It wouldn’t have helped. So why give it? Besides, we know it. We’re the only type of people who need it.”

Adler hummed, whether it was in agreement or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You took note of him shifting, hands a little fidgety around his M60 and you felt sympathy swell in you. He hasn’t been able to smoke since the start of this mission, having to be cautious with any type of smoke. You don’t know personally, but you know that the craving for cigarette’s were mind consuming if you did not have one to quell it. Perhaps this conversation was a welcome distraction.

You wonder if this night is just you going to be playing silent therapist.

“Do you think Larson should’ve heard it?”

Adler answered as he kept his dutiful watch around, him facing the area behind you as you focused in front.

“No. He just needed someone to listen. Poor bastard should ask for R&R after this. I’ll grant it to him, maybe he could go to Australia and just wind down there for a week.” He scratched at his face, the war paint surely feeling a little off since he first put it on. “Forget about all this. All of it. The States. The war. He needs it. Hell, we all do.”

Your lips formed a teasing smile.

“Even shadows and monsters need a smoke?”

Adler chuckled easily.

“Everyone needs a smoke as far as I’m concerned. Maybe less people will act like they’re one push away till they make a shitstorm the rest of us need to clean up. But sure, kid, ” he half shrugged, focusing on the sky above with all its celestial like bodies. “Larson might’ve been onto something though with what he was saying.”

“Which part?”

Adler chose silence as his answer, staring up for another moment or two before huffing and turning his attention back onto the ground.

The two of you stayed guarding for a few more moments. You didn’t bother asking Adler why he was up and you had this watch, just like how he didn’t seem to bother to order you to go to sleep. You felt like once more, there was an understanding between you two. Still though, it didn’t stop you from the question bubbling in your throat.

“Since you know the quote,” Adler hummed lightly, showing he was listening. “What do you think Nietzsche was referring to, that the reader itself hasn’t fought with other monsters yet or from experience because he is a monster to not have other’s fight him?”

Adler scoffed quietly, amused.

“Just cause I know the quote doesn’t mean I constantly wonder about it’s meaning, Bell.”

“Humor me.”

“I thought I told you earlier I’m not here to spoil you.” You threw him a sheepish grin, Adler sighing and shaking his head as his expression turned inquisitive with how he pressed his lips together for a moment. “It’s a warning. That’s how I always saw it. But it’s not one we need like you said earlier, kid.  We don’t need it.”

You didn’t ask anymore. Because as you thought more into it, he was right.

Nietzsche wrote a warning, to the innocent reader and the oblivious society that put emphasis on morals and truth that he did not agree with.

‘Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you.’

Monsters do not fret about what they already are. Just as they are not worried if the abyss ends with them or if it begins.

“Get ready, kid.” Adler said much later as they all slowly woke the others up to move, his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he stared past the trees, the bushes, and the greenery as the beginning of dawn started to rise. “It’s going to be a shit show in a few hours.”

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“Bell”

Second Life

14:02 | February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You see yourself as one with patience.

When it comes to this sort of line of work, it is required. A sort of fortitude and composure that not all can be able to acquire but must be needed for this—for lives at stake based on whether you can put up an act or have the tact of an eagle capturing a snake, all sharp claws and silent feathers against the hissing strike. ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” as said by one one of your favorites, Leo Tolstoy, from one of the best works in history: War and Peace.

You recall last time—stop clinging, you stupid dog—when you stood outside the safehouse in the cold with your head to the book, Adler stepping out and taking note of your book with a cocked brow. Stating his surprise at your book choice as you mumbled something or other as you read, that it is an integral book. You even stating the same quote back to him, a surprise to you when Adler didn’t know of it. Listening as you explained it with a flick of his lighter and calm inhales and exhales of his addiction, showing off where the quote was as he leaned in slightly. Your heart pounding as his warmth was felt without even touching, than a brush of his shoulder to your back as he drew closer. Than it was gone.

“All grim thoughts and wise words with you, eh Bell?” Amused. A fleeting turn of the lips that stayed longer and a gaze that lingered as he stared through you under those shades. “Make sure you take a breather when you raise your nose for air from your books. Can’t do this without you.”

He would tease, but didn’t stop you from taking your reading breaks outside for fresh air. And he’d always ask, curiosity in his expression when you’d show him a line each time. You thought it was special. Their own little thing where you would raise your book and he would lean to you and they would touch.

“Bell, open the door.”

It was just cruel kindness.

Patience, you are using it to your fullest. You can do what you must and see if your actions can work up to something—all your effort and hard work being seen as a good little tool.

Though, time—time is something you may not have. Unless you make sure you’re loyal.

You were quick to drop off the breakfast on the center table, ignoring Adler’s rose brow as you moved. The pineapple kasekuchen in their rightful place. You avoided and didn’t speak outside a quick “good morning” to everyone else and went to work, breakfast by you whenever you got truly hungry.

You didn’t think about why you bought the dessert. Outside the rationalization it shows your loyalty. Perhaps a peace offering to ignore what happened the night prior. You didn’t think much about that at all.

американский щеноk.

Until he called you over to his desk with a wave of his hand, your chest thundering with your eyes wide as you wondered if he’ll say anything. Take you aside in private to talk. About last night or the sweet, you’re not sure. Only for him to motion for you to sit, tapping his knuckle against the file on the desk. You took note the box of the kasekuchen wasn’t there anymore(must’ve already ate it or threw it away) as you blinked, slowly sitting in the seat across from him as he slid the file towards you as he asked your opinion on it.

You scanned, mind wandering and flying, before you glanced up at him. His favorite mahogany leather over him that is second skin, a lighter shade of blue for his collared shirt today under him and his mouth free of a cigarette as well as his hands. Those aviators still on his head, a part of him. Sort of like the beanie—ski—mask over your head as he looked down at another report in front of him. As if he didn’t call you over from your desk to his to help with a file when he could’ve just left it on your desk. As if you didn’t cross a line—you always cross the line, over, behind, or creating a completely new one to do what you must like he does whatever it takes but it was wrong, you are no saint, pitiful mutt—yesterday with your words and questions.

A hand reached towards the file in front of you, knuckle tapping twice, more force this time.

You focused back on the file, only to see Adler already took his hand back. Continuing to read as he patiently waited for your consensus on the file before you.

You were struck than how he’ll handle this, understanding dawning on you as your gaze focused and turned to the file below you and picking it up.

If he wishes to pretend as if it never occurred, it’s fine with you. It’s best either way for both of you. You have too many worries already, Adler included. Best to leave certain things out your mind about the man lest you’ll get clouded. You’re trying to survive. Not get caught up in and tangled in mind games.

You spotted in the corner of your eye Adler give a ghost of a nod, the tiniest tip of the head, imperceptible to others but you knew. He gave a similar one when you captured Volkov, walking up to you with a calm swagger and gloved hands around his weapon, as he moved his head in approval. Such a good girl to be happy with just a nod. Satisfied. He’s satisfied. He knows you understood. Understood him.

“You know me too well.”

“Guess we’re two peas in a pod.”

“I need Bell.”

You raised the file closer, over your mouth formed in a subconscious echo of a pleased smile. You didn’t even feel it. Nor did you feel electric blue eyes behind shades glance towards you before turning back to his work—the silent agreement to keep what happened last night to themselves written and signed without the two of you having to open your mouths.

Coward, you wanted to snarl. To who, you’re not sure. You just focused on what Adler gave you. You’ll need to have Adler let you live so you’ll need to not just be a perfect asset to the others but a person to him.

You have to do what you must.

“Damaged goods.”

You have to.

“You remembered.”

You flicked your eyes towards him, file momentarily forgotten. He didn’t look up from his own file, continuing to read it with the expression he always has when concentrated—a hint of pressed lips that reveals his dimples and brows lowered than usual where it would be difficult to see due to his shades. You would think that mania has truly taken a hold of you, with it’s dark tentacles filled with dark thoughts and mental anguish or rather slithering and multiplying vines where Lykourgos grew mad due to Dionysus’ vengeance except for you it is with choking collars and stifling leashes and cutting strings. He looked as if he didn’t speak at all. All the quiet focus of a war hardened CIA agent that didn’t have a ring on his finger but was married to his job with a badge to show all the same.

But you knew his voice. As if it was your own.

“We’ve known each other for years.”

“Fought together. Bled together. Been through Hell in Vietnam together.”

“We got a job to do.”

“ B e l l,  o p e n  t h e  d o o r . ”

The poor американская сука loves pain like a drug.

“I wasn’t sure what you would,” Adler spoke again, your eyes focusing on him once more. His head still was tilted down and a little to the side, shades facing the paper but you believed he glanced towards you. “The coma did a number on you with your memories. I know you’ve been saying it’s only been about Vietnam but you never specified about what. Or if you happened to remember anything else.” He didn’t state it like a question but he might as well have.

Of course he would ask. Why wouldn’t he?

Nonetheless, you knew what he was referring to in his earlier statement. He ate them. You picked up your file with a small huff.

“Hard to forget, Adler. Of course I would remember. You would hold those cans like a lifeline,” your lips lifted at the memories, of Adler trading with others if he must to get his precious golden ambrosia that would appease him similar to his cigarettes. You kept your lips up despite the quick recall the memories were fake—the trading of trash, the quiet understanding to not speak of it, of beautiful Vietnam foliage and unforgettable talks—just as you glanced at him and continued easily. “Glad you liked them. Wasn’t sure if you would. As for other memories. . . it’s still only been with Vietnam. I haven’t gotten anything else.” Adler hummed, cocking his head a tad before your lips formed more of a smile that you felt. “But at least I still know what I like or don’t. Can’t imagine a clean slate.”

“That’s normal,” Adler said, shades now facing you as you somewhat hid your face with the file. The only thing him being able to see fully was your eyes. “Learn how to calm down and that you can’t take all these shots like you’re a target in a shitty gun range. Might remember more.”

You found yourself snorting, rolling your eyes. Finding dark amusement at his words despite yourself. Perhaps you are growing insane.

“Based on what you told me in the hospital, you would’ve had some holes instead.” The way you said it, it sounds like you still believe it. Like it was real. Dance puppet, dance. You turned up your lips into a semblance of a smirk as you looked over the file towards him. You maintained it even though you think the both of your eyes connected despite the shades hiding. “You don’t have to worry, Adler. I got your back. Always. A few shots is nothing.”

It’s what you would’ve said before. It scares you how much you meant it previously. As if your life was forfeit if it came to having Adler live longer. Nothing else would matter as long as he lived. Nothing. As if the world would come to an end if he fell—the only one that could hold it and keep it straight.

Perhaps he is Atlas after all. . .

The loyal dog with the pretty collar will always protect the master.

Cursed due to his cruelty.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Adler stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your words. Scrutinizing them. He than reached into his jacket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Once he did the first drag and released his puff, away from you as you observed the smoke curl around them, he looked back down to the papers on the desk.

“How lucky am I that I got you around than, kid,” he replied, all low and earnest as he took another drag. “Just don’t go dying on me. Can’t have Sims talk to his shrink about something else. He’d be heart broken.”

Adler said that sentence a little louder, so it was no surprise that Sims by the desk put down his magazine and called out.

“I resent that!”

Adler’s lips twitched in response, but kept his gaze down as your heart thundered.

You thought of an explosion to the chest, your heart open and bare for more reasons than you planned. Of soft words to your ear that sounded like regret and something else as you coughed. Of a gentle touch that held you up, hands wandering from your waist to your stomach—stopping just short of a bleeding chest as if they wanted to stop the red—redredredredred—from flowing out but hesitated. An encircling of arms that released heat as you grew cold—you don’t like the cold much anymore—while an expression was carefully guarded with eyes hiding behind a shaded curtain.

You felt your throat tighten. The need for answers to unanswered questions reaching a head.

“Just Sims?” you asked softly, a little breathless and a little confused at said breathlessness.

He glanced up, aviators slightly down and you could barely see his eyes as he exhaled a puff, eyeing you. You staring as his brow lifted for a moment before it settled, an interesting look in your eyes that one might call forlorn. And something else that is dangerous and not meant for monsters who are better alone.

“Maybe another life, kid.”

Mind thine eyes dog, for they show you yearn the impossible.

“You know the answer, Bell. Everyone would be,” Adler leaned slightly back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers in his customary hold between his ring and middle finger. “You’re part of the team. What kind of question is that?”

“You’re still one of us.”

He knows what he’s doing. Just as he knows what you mean.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down with squinting eyes at the file. Your hand making it a little wrinkle and you don’t know what you expected. What you’re expecting. He hurts. He pretends. Why would he even answer truthfully when he can dodge and feel less guilt about a hole in you caused by his hand?

He’s—

You felt a nudge against your knee, you looking up in shock with a quick inhale at the unexpected touch. It staying there—his knee, he’s touching you—as you watched Russell tilt his head at you, brow up and lips quirked with a cigarette around it and looking wry and relaxed—what is this, why, what could this be for, why is he doing acts that are pointless yet mean everything when he could just be distant, you are getting worked up over just knees touching, you touch starved little thing—as he motioned his head an iota to the left. Your eyes following the movement to see Park where she was, nearby with her desk and a headphone to one ear but the other still able to listen in despite how naturally quiet you and Adler are with your soft voice and Adler’s low tone.

Park? What does she have to do with anything? And why would Adler of all people care?

You frowned, only for your lips to flatten in realization of her words to you about Adler. To stay away. You now wonder if she did a similar warning to him.

“Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

You wonder if the pissing match that was imperceptible and the slight tension was more than just two agencies trying to come to an accord.

But why would Park warn Adler?

You glanced back at Adler, who gave a half shrug as if to answer your silent question. It only raised more. You moved your knee back closer to your form and Adler didn’t react as you did so. The both of you turning back to the files that Adler requested your assistance.

Not thinking in the back of your mind of fleeting touches, lingering looks, or a voice to your pounding ear that tinged with remorse even though you couldn’t see his face.

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You and Park just recently finished going through the report you and Woods got from Ukraine. Sims and Lazar were in the back rooms where the gun range was while Park was in the Red Room. Last you checked, Adler was still in his office with a call while Mason and Woods were by the weight lifting equipment and taking turns to work off some steam due to what was discovered. You were putting the findings up on the evidence board with tacks, careful to not stab yourself. You wouldn’t be as concerned if you were wearing your gloves which you put away earlier by your bunk bed, but than again, you’re quite careful with your gloves. Not only because of the quality, but who got the leather gloves for you when you were just recently discharged out of the hospital back in the States.

You smiled, putting the last tack on the board only to have a sudden weight around your shoulders. You widened your eyes, briefly alarmed only to turn your head to see it was a smirking Woods.

“Done? Good! I’ve been holding off till now but it’s time to fucking see what you’re  really  made of Bell.”

You blinked, confused and still reeling at the fact you didn’t sense his approach at all. Your mind will zone out over the littlest of things lately. It concerns you. But it hasn’t been a problem so far out in missions, so you think it’s alright.

“And how exactly I’m going to do that? Thought I showed you enough back in Ukraine.”

At that, Woods laughed as he basically tugged you to where Mason was, who was shaking his head at his friend and shooting you an apologetic look as you just smiled that you were okay with it. Their van door open in the back as well as a table and chairs in front. You took note of the packs of beer and you see what Woods meant as he sat by Mason in the van on the floor, you sitting down and observing as Woods took a hefty gulp of a beer.

“I think I know now. But,” you glanced to where Adler’s office was, “is this wise? Isn’t Hudson coming over here soon?”

Woods slammed his beer down, causing some of it to come out as Mason sighed at the wastefulness.

“Man,  fuck  Hudson!” Woods wiped his chin harshly, irritation coloring his features. “I want to forget about that nutsack for the rest of the day. When he comes, he better not say shit or I’ll punch him again. Maybe with that shit will stop coming out his mouth.”

Mason chuckled, having his own beer in his hand as his eyes wandered to his longtime friend, shifting as he got comfortable in his seat.

“How’s the hand?”

Woods scoffed.

“Pfft. Nothing fancy,” Woods looked at said hand, clenching it as he moved to crack his knuckles as he grinned wildly. “Ready enough, like I said, if Hudson says something smart.” He punched his fist against his hand, muscles flexing noticeable despite his jacket as you couldn’t help but laugh along with Mason.

“I still can’t believe you punched him yesterday,” you spoke up, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine anyone punching the intimidating harsh man that is James Hudson. Soon after your discharge, you had to meet with him back in Langley for the mission before all this Perseus business—although you suppose supporting the Polish union Solidarity in fighting back communists have everything to do with Perseus. You don’t understand why the man seems to dislike you so much, especially if the two of you worked briefly before which you sadly can’t remember. He must always be like that with others, Woods doesn’t seem to like or appreciate Hudson’s icy countenance either way. You don’t quite appreciate the man’s secrecy about the nukes, so you see why. “If I even breathe the air wrong around him, I think I will be dead come morning. I don’t think I’m exaggerating.”

“You?” Woods asked, amused incredulity in his tone as he faced you. “The one who basically took out three Heavy’s by your lonesome? Scared of that ball face? You’re shitting me!”

Mason rose his brows as he turned towards you.

“You didn’t say that in the report. You holding out on us, Bell?”

“Right?! Now open a bottle and tell Mason here everything that happened.”

You rose a brow, amusement shining in your eyes, your hand moving to the pack of beer before stopping. The memory of the arcade room making you smile knowingly.

“Everything?”

Woods made a face, cheeks looking an interesting color that Mason caught as he nudged his friend with his elbow.

“What’s she talking about Woods?”

“Nothing! Jesus Christ Bell, didn’t know you could be a little shit like Adler can.”

The words bounced off you easily, already used to the man’s vulgar personality from the mission and even before the mission to go over details, as you shrugged, smirking as Mason kept pushing Woods on what happened as Woods would grumble or drink his beer to avoid answering. At Adler’s name however, you looked back at the office, slightly biting the inside of your lip.

Your breaks thus far outside of eating has just been reading your books or a quick game in the back room. Never for a drink like Lazar would do with Sims and Park at times. Adler, at least what you know of, hasn’t drunk and just has stuck with his cigarettes. You don’t even remember the last time  you  drank. All you know is that you like it.

But. . . you’re not sure if Adler would approve. You’re always focused on your work and great at it, he depends on you to maintain your focus to catch Perseus.

You subconsciously put your hand in your jacket, feeling the polaroid as you thought.

Woods noticed your apprehension and called out to you, you turning your head back.

“Whatcha fuckin’ worried about? You’ve been working all day from those codes and whatever the shit you put on the board. I don’t think Adler would want you to be worked dry where you don’t even think straight.”

“Only booze can do that,” Mason added helpfully.

Woods nodded, looking too serious it was almost comical since they were just trying to persuade you to drink.

“What he said.”

You took a moment before you shrugged, grabbing a beer and opening it as you stated that you guess you could drink with legends. Woods huffing at you, soon calling you cocky in realization as to why you made fighting Heavy’s not a big deal and not impressed with him. Mason seeming to find it funny as the three of you drank and talked about the mission more freely and colorful words with Woods. You did slightly flush when Woods told Mason you were a nerd for playing a quick game while there were Russians preparing for their training course, Mason snorting as you hushed them when Park grew near them. Not wishing for her to find out.

Quickly hiding it by inviting her to join just as Lazar and Sims came back, the two men seeming to easily join in as Park contemplated as she stared at the beer. With a sigh though, she sat by Lazar as she took one.

“Next time, I’m buying the alcohol here. You bought rubbish, Woods.”

“‘Rubbish?’ And beer is beer, nothing wrong with good ol cheap beer sometimes,” Woods defended. “Adds to the flavor.”

Lazar smiled, raising his bottle.

“Cheers to that.” Lazar and Woods tapped their bottles in the middle when they reached over, an easy aura settling between the group.

Sims got a bottle, assessing the name as well as the pack as he did a dog whistle.

“Germans know how to do one thing right, and that’s beer. You’ll be fine Park. It could be worse,” Sims took a drink, humming as he did so while Park frowned at her bottle when she took a few sips.

“Worse?”

“It could’ve been canned,” Mason answered, speaking from experience that made you raise a brow as you took a drink, settling further into your seat. “Canned cheap beer you can basically taste the metal. There was one time back in the States where I practically shitted myself due to this cheap beer I got at this random gas station in the middle of nowhere. Ruined my night.”

“And your pants it seems,” Lazar commented, mirth clear in his tone before he released a laugh along with Sims guffaw at the Israeli’s words. Park shaking her head but anyone can see her smile on her lips as Woods stated that’s what happens when you’re in “bumfuck nowhere” and probably got experimented with weird moonshine.

You snorted in surprise, covering your mouth as your imagination pictured the soldier rushing to the bathroom lest an accident happens. Mason? He seems so serious all the time, which you can understand why. You’ve read up what you could on everyone here, the description’s were small but you could fill in the lines. He’s lucky that he has such a good friend like Woods.

It soon became a trading of stories between everyone about drunk nights and how they reached that point, Lazar running with a bowl of chili and Woods determined to make condom water balloons and Sims was just finishing his own passed out in random deck chairs story when the door of the office opened.

You immediately turned towards where Adler now stood, staring at all of you as he closed the door and currently free of a cigarette. Your anxiety only grew when Adler turned his head towards you, as if he was asking you personally on the situation as you could only throw him an apologetic yet impish smile. Adler’s brow rose.

“Adler!” Woods called, raising a hand and motioning it for the man to come over. Adler approaching the group as you could only stare and tried to get a read on him. Alas, it was hard to discern his mind even if you could spot him glancing at everyone and the table with bottles. “Join us while there’s still beer left! Planning to drink all of this before Hudson comes. He can’t say anything if there’s no evidence.”

Adler hummed, stopping behind you and Sims as he appeared in thought. A trickle of hope coming up your chest at Woods offer.

“All of you are in luck,” Adler eventually answered, the subtle amused tone not lost on you as you intently focused on it. “Hudson isn’t coming till early in the morning tomorrow. Got caught up with something with Black. Can’t imagine how he would react if he saw all this.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Woods spat, reaching for a bottle and throwing Adler one. Adler catching it with his hand, shaded eyes turning towards the bottle to read the label. “We’re not here to please his every whim and cater to him like we’re his butlers. I say it’s a perfect time to wind down. We were just trading stories of getting shit faced.”

“All of you were,” Park corrected easily, “I don’t plan on sharing any such event.”

“Never say never, Park,” Lazar said, a grin playing on his lips as he winked at the British woman. “I’m sure a lady like you has quite a collection of stories.”

“A lady never says her secrets.”

You were still staring up at Adler as Sims playfully groaned at Lazar’s flirt tactics that Park didn’t seem to mind, Adler tilted his head down and met your eyes. Seeming to assess before turning his gaze towards the evidence board, which now had additional papers than previously since he entered the office, assessing. He than turned back towards you, you impatiently waiting as you shifted in your seat to see if he would let all of you continue, his eyes seeming to follow when your hand went to your jacket pocket.

Adler released a huff of soft exasperation, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t see the problem. We can all use a break from all of this.”

You practically beamed as Woods whooped, you moving a seat over where you were now next to Woods. Adler taking your seat as he sat by Sims now, opening his bottle as he asked whose story they were on. Sims continuing it and finishing before Lazar had another one. You listening with a smile or laughter, feeling the most at ease since this whole mission started you think. You believe that Adler must feel the same way, appearing relaxed as he sat and leaned back against the chair, beer forgotten and customary cigarette on his lips as he listened.

It made you want to take a picture of this moment. You standing up and announcing to the others you’ll do just that, Woods raising a brow at you.

“You and pictures. You a photographer or something? I hope you’ll at least show me what pics you took of me instead of those Red’s building.”

Your cheeks felt heated as you turned towards Woods, standing over him with fists clenched by your side as you called his name, askance. Making the man laugh at your expression, your irritation leaving you due to it but you gave him a warning look and call of his name which he caught. Not wishing for you to say the story, as Adler watched nonchalantly.

“Pictures? Got distracted again, Bell?” He asked, almost sounding like a tease only for the others to join in that you really loved that camera. You pursing your lips and appearing like you were pouting, as you turned away and got the camera from the Red Room quickly. Taking the picture of everyone only for Woods to motion his hand for it to your bewilderment.

“What? Don’t you want one with you in it too?” Woods asked, grabbing the camera from your hands as he grinned up at you. Adler and Park glancing at each other behind you, Adler flapping his cigarette hand uncaringly in answer. Mason raising a brow at the exchange but staying silent as his eyes moved back towards his loud friend.

You didn’t think of that but you stated you wanted one with everyone than, Park raising her hand for the camera to do the setting for it to be timed and placing it on top of Sims car he was working on earlier. All of you turning your chairs slightly, getting close with beers in hand and you trying to maintain a perfect smile even with Adler’s knee touching yours. The camera flashed, you feeling something by your head only for you to lightly punch Woods shoulder once you saw he must’ve gave you bunny ears in the photo. Him laughing away as you fought your own smile, his rugged charm rubbing off on you as Adler inhaled quietly as he watched the exchange.

The stories than eventually moved to mission stories, and than, unsurprisingly—to Vietnam. At this point, Park and Lazar retired for the night—Sims eventually doing the same when he noticed it turned to Vietnam. Which left you, Mason, Woods, and Adler—Adler just finishing up the story about what happened in Hue City, leaving a few details out you noted but loyally and wisely kept silent, as Mason took it in with a slight nod of his head.

“So that’s what happened on your side. Shit. . . that whole place was a shit show since the beginning. Lucky I only had to do a quick in and out by just getting a dossier.”

Woods snorted, nursing his fifth beer.

“That whole war was a shit show. Only good thing that came out of it is telling stories about it years later in a depressed warehouse. While a whole other type of war is happening.”

At the mention of the reminder of them losing that war, you spoke up.

“Not the only thing,” you couldn’t help but say, lost in thought as you looked at the ground.

Adler turned his head towards you as Woods and Mason did the same, curious.

“And what’s that, kid?”

You kept your gaze down for a moment more before flicking your eyes to the side towards Adler.

“We’re all still here, aren’t we?”

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Ȳ̶͇̝͐ó̶̘̈ṵ̴̡͑͒ ̴̯̗̅ŵ̴̭͘â̸̭̼̤n̵̼͚̘͑t̶̠̮̯́̏ ̶̭̝̱̄́̅ţ̶̠̑̈̚ǫ̶̳̉́ ̴̘͖͊͊͘ͅ ̵̡͋́ṣ̶̞̆̚ ̴͚̲̕ț̸̓ộ̴̍̐p̴̣͓̾́ ̴̫̗̆͜ḫ̴̛̦͓́́ẽ̴̛̻̋ṛ̵̲̞͈̅͠ę̷̼̯͔̍̌͌?̶̫̩̆͆

̷̼̈́

̵̣̽̉͛

̶̝͋͂B̷̝̾̾u̸͚͊̕ţ̷̛̭͖̈́̾ ̶̱͑̔i̷̩͇̤̐ṯ̴̪̓̓ ̷̜͊d̸̆͜į̶̩͔̉̏d̵͔̓͝n̴̨͇͒’̵̰͑́͂ţ̸̯̯͋ ̷̧͖̣̿̒e̴̥͋͝n̴̘̱̿̕d̸̛̤̹̔ ̵̡̡̩̈̐h̷̫͔͂͜ë̴̺̜́͑͊ȑ̶̺͉͠ĕ̴̥̉.̴͕̭͌̕͠

̸̠̹̿̊̿

̸̠͊̅

̸͙͓̬̂͒͝Ë̶̼̙̭́͘̕ ̶̳͆v̵̱͙̿̋ ̴͔̇̋ę̷͚̫͆̃̈n̵̥̣͈̏̅ ̷͇̮͒͊ ̴̛̺ ̶̡͆t̶̢̘͒ḧ̷̺̉ě̸͓̼̂ͅ ̶̬̲̫̈b̶̟̪̒̒ę̵͊͝s̶̟̱̐ţ̴͙̳̆̚ ̶͔̈́d̸̝̭͑̈́͒o̸͖͑̓g̸̨͌̈́̀s̴̹̫̖͗̅ ̶̯̝͛ḷ̶̬̔͌̐i̷̘̥̓́k̴͕̓͝ĕ̷̡̿̽́ ̵̖͗̾͘ţ̵̟̤̈́́̽ö̴͖͕͙́͗͝ ̴̦̂͊͝r̶͉͈̊̆̔ų̴̝̋̈ņ̶̼͛ ̶̭̦́.̶͔̇̄

̶̫̘͒̌̿

̵͓̱͇̆̕͠

̷̧̰̙̇͝B̶͕̐̐̓e̸̖̟̋ŝ̶̨t̵̗̎̀,̴̯̥̐̕ ̶͚͓̓̀́ť̶͐̂͜ŏ̸̢̿̉ ̵̨͎̄̿͆ć̷̣̓͑́ơ̶͔͓̋̿̔m̵̧̢̩̃ê̸̘̠̠ ̴̰̫͠͝ͅb̶͇̔̒ą̶̤̯̰̽͊c̸͈͗k̸̩͉͙̓̿ ̷̻̼̰͆ẃ̶̞͙̃͒͌ḧ̵̘͑̒̃e̵̜̰̓͘͝ń̶͙͒̚ ̵̪̖̥̊̈́ȑ̷̢̌̎ẽ̸̛͇̂ͅà̴̞̖̫d̸̤̺̽͛ỳ̴̰̊͝ ̷̠̌͝f̴̢́͊o̴͉̒͠r̷͕͙͙̽̋́ ̶͈̾̉t̴̥͒͘r̷͉̘̐́ų̸̠̔̋́t̴̨͚́̾h̷̖͕̯̀̒͛.̵̫̟̬̄

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

15:47| February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

Soon after you said your thoughts to Adler about the file, you moved to go back to your desk only to pause by the T.V. You turned back, Adler raising a curious brow as he put out his cigarette with his ash tray nearby. You asked him for any other files he may need help with, Adler saying nothing as he reached another file by him and handing it to you. You grabbed it, your black leather gloved hand grazing against his bare one as you took it. Taking note of what he said about it before turning to your desk and staying there. Ignoring a probing stare in the back of your neck.

You’ll do what you must, but if he expects you to stay by his side when he inconvenienced you earlier by making you come to him. . . Well, you think a little petty action is worth it.

Besides, you have to think by yourself for a moment. The call about Volkov squeaking his rat mouth should’ve came already. By nighttime—you, Adler, and Park should already be on the way to Ukraine and meet up with Woods and Mason.

Woods and Mason, you think fondly with a sad smile of a whirlwind of a man drinking back beer after beer like water with a deep throated laugh and the silent soldier with sad eyes yet listens attentively and a kind smile that brightens. Oh, I’ve missed you guys.

They were barely in the safehouse, out in missions constantly when you would decode and just being the team’s powerhouse duo. When they were here though, the safehouse was louder. More easy and free, less stifling and grim due to the work they were doing. They had a certain charisma very different than Adler’s, one’s that captured you in a different manner so it is no surprise you managed to get close and hang with them more than anyone when they were here. Sims being distant, Park communicating with MI6 about the CIA, Lazar determined to woo the agent when he wasn’t cleaning and prepping weapons, and Adler was. . .busy watching you were in line you suppose.

Card games and stories being shared, Woods and Mason not seeming to mind when you were around them. You suspect Woods let you get close to make sure you don’t tell his precious secret and blunder back in the arcade room in Ukraine. Although you would tease him that you might at times.

You feel like that in your other life, Park was right. You don’t think those two knew about your situation. It just made you like them more.

Because at least with them, you’re positive it was real.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You wished they were able to save you from Adler though. But they were tired and celebratory of what they accomplished. They took in Adler saying you and him were just taking a detour at face value.

“Do not trust Adler. He is lying to you.”

Adler always lies.

You have to remember that. And to just brush away any kindness he may show.

It’s not real.

Is it?

A loyal and trained dog through and through.

When you saw it was nearing 1700 hours, you looked around where Park was. Seeing she was with Adler in the corner by the weights, conversing with him with a crease in her brow while Adler looked as if he was only mildly taking note of her words as he puffed along his cigarette. A trait of his you knew frustrated the British woman. Adler likes to feign disinterest a lot. It could be seen as a weapon to make others talk due to how irritating it could be or make one cautious at how apathetic the man can act or look.

You walked over to them, your ears getting the tail end of whatever was ailing Park.

“—not making light of this and reign it in. Oh, Bell.” Park’s tone softened, a sharp contrast that stood out to you as she noticed you step up to them. Adler not even glancing at you as he continued his smoke, or at least not turn his head towards you. It’s dark in this corner so you wouldn’t be able to tell if he turned his eyes towards you or not unless he moved his head or body in your direction. “What’s wrong? Any new updates on the decryptions?”

You shook your head, looking between the two of them before settling on Park.

“What’s the word on Volkov? He talk yet?”

Park sighed.

“I’m afraid not. He’s proved himself stubborn despite his tastes being similar to what makes the U.K. great.”

You cocked a brow, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“Medieval torture devices not his style?” You asked, calling back to what Park said about Volkov’s hobbies.

Park matched you, amused as she shrugged lightly.

“I believe the lack of scotch is what will do him in personally.”

“He has to talk soon,” Adler cut in, exhaling a puff as you and Park turned towards him. Adler faced Park, arching a brow as he continued calmly. “Your guys over there aren’t giving him a good time right now, I imagine. The last thing we need is for him to be tight lipped.”

Your throat turned dry. You think you regret mentioning this as Park answered.

“He’s not the type to remain loyal if his back is to the wall. His selfish demeanor and arrogance will what cause him to try to strike a deal with us. It will benefit us than him in the end once he breaks.”

“If he breaks,” Adler added with a frown. “If he still doesn’t talk by the next two days, we might as well have killed him once we saw him. He’s useless.”

“She’s of no use to us anymore.”

You swallowed, moving to pocket your hands in your black bomber jacket as your hands clenched along with your jaw.

Park frowned at Adler, disapproving.

“He knows a great many things. Not everyone can handle interrogation for so long and be able to stay silent about anything that might give them reprieve.”

Oh, look, you thought sourly, bitterness starting to rise once more as you maintained your blank expression besides your taut jaw. They’re complimenting me. How nice of them to say I wasn’t easy for them.

Control your tongue, you stupid dog.

Adler huffed, it almost sounding like one mixed with amusement and exasperation as he shook his head slightly.

“Perseus’ people are almost as slippery and conniving as Perseus himself. And dangerous.” Adler took another inhale and exhale, the smoke curling around them and going over your head as your gaze lazily followed it to distract yourself while Adler did the same, tipping his head up to watch. “Perhaps he knows if he talks, he might as well be dead. We don’t need an Aldrich in the MI6 either.”

Park’s demeanor straightened at Adler’s accusation, the possibility of having a traitor or spy in her agency a great insult. She was about to say a scathing retort surely, but you cut her off.

“He’ll talk,” you say cooly, unreadable gaze towards Adler as he finally turned his head in acknowledgement towards you.

“What makes you so sure?” He asked, curiosity lacing his tone along with intrigue as he moved to place his cigarette for another puff.

You straightened your shoulders as you stared deep into his aviators that shadowed him properly to be America’s Monster.

“They all eventually do.”

Adler paused his hand, lips not around his craving as he stared towards you. Both your gazes not breaking even as Park looked between the two of you before settling with staring at Adler with slightly narrowed eyes.

Adler pressed his lips, a whisper of a smirk as he did it and nodded towards you once more before turning back towards Park.

“You hear that, Park? No reason to worry. Everyone talks. Right, Bell?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, ignoring how your stomach churned yet your heart pounded. You’re no saint. “We both know how to make them.” You slipped out, knowing eyes not leaving his face as you twisted a knife.

Adler didn’t seem to notice, or care really as he seemed to throw Park a mildly triumphant look. You don’t know why it would. You wouldn’t either and can care less about those you tortured—whether false or real.

Monsters do not worry over every drop in the red ocean they created.

Y o u’r e  n o  s a i n t, д е м о н.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You had headphones in, listening to the audio log to finish up the decryption despite the lack of other Intel so you could put all your focus on Operation Red Circus. Instead of the exchange earlier, all of them.

So you didn’t hear when the garage door opened and a van to come in, but you did when it got slammed closed. You jumped in your seat in the corner on your desk, hidden behind the evidence board and the T.V. You lowered your headphones, curious to see what was going on and if Sims brought in another car, only for your breath to hitch in your throat. You standing up so quick your chair almost fell back as you stood next to the T.V., heart thundering only for it to stop as you stared avidly, wildly, madly, hopefully.

Adler moved his hand to guide the red van in, sighing out a puff of smoke as the driver came out.

“Hudson barely gave me any warning about this before you guys arrived. Didn’t think he was going to give the okay on this based on the latest call on Volkov.”

“Well, you know Hudson,” the voice that spoke was quiet yet deep with how it spoke in easy amusement. If one strains their ear, you could spot the reserved soldier with sad eyes and a kind smile. “Always the one that loves to talk.”

“Pfft, yeah,” this one, this one was all rough and throaty as if it got abused in the past from events unknown but one can guess. If one just takes a glance, you could discern the storm stuck in a body yet does a light drizzle for friends despite the thunder. “Hudson’s a real charmer. Don’t tell me that the Russian Godfather decided to finally open his mouth right when we got here.” At Adler’s nod, the one man army groaned. “Man, jet lag is going to be a fuckin killer! Forget hotels, I’m sleeping here until we head out.”

They’re. . . Your hands shook by your side. Not paying kind to Park who stepped out the Red Room, head turned towards you and approaching you as she called out to you. You only stared as you bit the inside of your lip.

Sims, who helped pull the van in and was now leaning against the side of it, shook his head amiably with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you’re fine with a raggedy ass mattress that looks like hasn’t seen the light of day since the ‘60s.”

“I believe the ‘70s personally,” Lazar spoke up as he sat on his desk, empty plate of takeout near him. “It still has potential if one’s desperate.”

“Yeah, well I’m desperate. Now where is it?” He turned his head along with his friend, comrade, forever ally just as they took a few steps close to where Park’s desk was and seeming to notice you the first time. Adler tilting his head at you, you silently just staring at the two as if you haven’t seen them in years, puffing silently as his brow rose curiously. But you could only look dumbly, eyes feeling a little pressure. They’re here. “Who are you and what the fuck are you looking at?” Woods asked sharply.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your lips lifted into a smile before it opened, letting a loud bark of a laugh come out. You’re laughing.

When was the last time you laughed? Genuinely?

You could practically feel the stares, but you didn’t care. They’re here.

They were real.

Once your laughter calmed to chuckles and giggles, clearing the corner of your eyes for any possible tears, Adler stepped up between you and the two soldiers. Giving you a quick once over behind his glasses, you waving your hand at him dismissively slightly at his unanswered question, his brow furrowing before relaxing as he put an arm out towards you.

“Woods. Mason. This is Bell, my protege. I spoke to you about her before.”

You quickly fixed yourself and your expression as you took a polite step forward, you probably look absolutely insane. They don’t know you despite you knowing them. Calm down. You just didn’t expect that a change like the others would be this.  Oh god, you looked insane.

“Sorry,” you began, a tiny sheepish play to your lips, “I just—you guys are both legends and I just didn’t expect to see you guys here. At least, so soon. You could say I was a bit. . . excited to put it lightly. Hope I didn’t scare you off?”

Woods and Mason stared at you, Mason having distant amusement playing in his brown eyes as Woods non-subtly leaned towards Mason, a hand slightly covering his mouth.

“Careful Mason,” Woods falsely whispered as he eyed you with suspicion. “We have a rabid fan on our hands.”

“I think she can hear you,” Mason didn’t try to whisper but it didn’t matter as Woods suddenly snorted as he crossed his arms.

“Listen here, Bell. The last thing that’s gonna scare us is someone who got excited about seeing us like we were the fucking—what is it these days? Someone gimme a hand.”

“You talking about bands?” Lazar questioned, Woods nodding as he glanced behind to where the dark skinned man stood by his desk, Lazar staring up in thought. “There’s Fleetwood Mac still going on.”

“Not like how the Beatles was going on,” Woods answered, a little too seriously as you fought a smile while Mason moved and leaned against the evidence board.

“Hear there’s growing popularity with AC/DC and Kiss. They’ve been on the radio a lot lately.”

Woods swiped his hand back and forth as he made a sound of disgust.

“You comparing us to those guys that look like they came out of hell, Mason? What do we look like?”

“I think it fits,” Adler dryly stated, clicking his lighter on to light his cigarette. Woods telling Adler he’s not helping as Park came by next to you with a hand to her hip.

“If demons don’t work, there’s always the Queen. And I’m not talking about the one I serve.”

“Queen is pretty good,” Sims said from behind, “but you guys had to have heard that new song Celebration by the Kool and the Gang. That shit hits.”

“Whichever!” Woods turned towards you asking you how exactly you know about them, you answering honestly that you read up on them on the computer. Seeing no point in hiding it as Woods gave a vicious grin towards you. “Well, aren’t you a nosy little shit. You always read up on everybody?” You were once again honest, saying you like to be thorough with everything but you only had a brief description to go off about them. Whatever secrets they may have is safe with them. Woods sniffed, slightly backing off and Mason appeared to have relaxed his shoulders. “A nosy shit with manners at least. And balls to say all of that to our faces despite what you read.”

True, if you did not know Woods and Mason. Despite that one time where you truly felt their intimidating aura on you, once you get to know them, they’re softies that are loyal. Even with Woods barbed and vulgar words and Mason always observing quietly behind with an assessing look in his eyes, you know they’re shields. Walls. To help with whatever occurred before—just like everyone else here.

And, just like there’s walls. . .

“There’s no innocence here,” you answered, shrugging with a bitter smile.

Woods stared at you for a moment before guffawing, pointing in your direction as he turned to face Adler who stared at you behind his shades as he inhaled his addiction.

“Where’d ya find her, Adler?” Woods asked, before than flapping his hand. “Answer that later. I need food and to knock the fuck out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeated, even though you already knew as Adler answered.

“Let’s go over the details briefly. You were right, Bell. Volkov talked.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You watched after the meeting how Woods moved, all loudness and an army in one body with the propriety of one would find in any soldier—none at all. Refreshing. Needed. Even though he looked at you strange when you offered to help with setting up his bed that was all dust and old in the storage room by the generator.

You wonder in the end, after the cliff, how Woods reacted after just saving you from a large sheet of metal debris. Is it naive thinking that he might’ve been mad?

You looked at Mason, more careful with your approach as you smiled softly at him while you gave him the quick rundown that everyone has a spot chosen for their work. That they could use the desk by where they put the projector if they want. Mason raising a brow at you but letting you once you wisely gave him his space.

Would Mason be furious? You were unlucky because you were under the wrong flag. You were born a Russian. If you weren’t than, maybe, they would’ve kept you like they did him.

Meanwhile, Adler—a gaze that never falters, and eyes that are all-seeing with how hawkish they could be, does he see(?)—observed you silently as you moved to and fro with an energy that wasn’t there before. And a smile that looks genuine. He sits back, and watches.

“Shame you were born in the wrong country.”

There’s a lot of shameful things that are tied to you. But like any good monster, any foolish Icarus, and any stupid girl—you’ll ignore them.

.

.

.

American pup—американский щеноk

American bitch—американская сука

You wish to be American, comrade—ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ

Demon—демон

I don't know if it's been too subtle--but Bell isn't exactly. . .mentally/emotionally healthy right now. Adler is just everywhere. But maybe Woods and Mason can help now by just being there.

I love those two a lot.

This Second Life of Bell is coming to a close soon, this has gone longer than planned but thank you for everyone that has been with me so far! ^///////^ Happy Late 6th Anniversary of Undertale that inspired this story's plot <3

I am having trouble contacting my beta due to Tumblr being stupid with messages. Maybe I can reach them here, please contact me on Discord under username: Animefreak1145 (Code #8517)

*PM me if you wish to be Tagged*

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @nocturnalblurbee @salvija @gojocat247 @dallmaistir @animecriminal @weirdoartist21

[katsucutie]

i hate your guts (m)

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader genre: smut, humor warnings: smut, swearing (you know the good stuff) overview: class 1-a has this belief that you and katsuki hate each other, though one incident has their minds changed word count: 4.2k author’s note: this was written to fight my writer’s block and i happened to find a psycho-analysis of katsuki which helped somewhat and its quite interesting. anyways...the song choice while writing this was house of cards, also this was written in three days and i tried using any relevant medical terms i’ve learned so far in uni. hope you enjoy!! masterlist | ko-fi

Walking through the azure-rimmed gate you knew the day would be the same. Homeroom for ten minutes then classes back to back with a minor minute break in between, next an oh-so-needed fifty-minute lunch, and finally two classes to end the day. Not that you could complain, heroes in training must earn some type of education.

Though school wasn’t the worst thing invented, you can definitely say occasions in English class were not lackluster with Present Mic as the teacher. Or in math, when Midoriya yells out an inaccurate answer only to be corrected by Yaoyorozu. It's the little moments that bring laughter, or maybe it’s watching someone embarrass themselves in front of a class that's joyful.

And you could never forget the times where Jirou teased Kaminari for short-circuiting.

While all those moments are fun and dandy, 1-A can also be quite the chatterboxes and gossipy, especially when it comes to your feelings towards Bakugou. Believing that your relationship consists of mutual hatred, class 1-A constantly manages to tease both you and the blonde-headed male. Even All-Might manages to separate the two of you during training.

Although you never said anything against the rumors, it's quite humorous to see a school be so wrong in their thoughts. Is it not obvious that the glares the two of you send are not out of anger but endearment? Clearly not to Todoroki who claimed that Midoriya was All-Might’s secret love child, but that's beside the point. Additionally, you’ve yet to hear an accurate hypothesis as to why you and Bakugou would hate each other. Many of the theories revolve around Bakugou’s ‘anger problems’ but honestly, who doesn’t get mad?

Nonetheless, the rumors surrounding your alleged detestation toward the blonde sparked a little prank between you two. Pretending to hate each other until people catch on that you’re dating.

And the joke has been going on for quite a while, four months to be exact. Four months of pretending to hate in front of crowds, yet loving behind closed doors. Four months of experiencing the rush of adrenaline when you sneak around to his dorm room in the late hours of the night. Four months of leaving your friend groups to hang out during lunch.  

Four months of waking up early to walk to class with Bakugou. And don’t forget about four months of the blonde-headed male constantly breaking you away from your thoughts.

“Oi Y/n, break out of that daze and let’s go, we have thirty-minutes before class and I’d like to spend that time not pretending to hate you” Bakugou calls while molding his fingers into yours.

“Oh please, I’m not pretending you know I hate your guts” You smile, leaning into the broad male walking towards homeroom. “Do you think today will be the same?”

“Yes, those idiots could watch us kiss and still think we hate each other, though I can’t complain, their oblivion is better than if they were to pester us about our relationship” he snarks.

Mindlessly nodding in agreement, you and Bakugou wander through the purple-stained floors of U.A., passing by random classrooms, and peering out the glass windows that overlook the campus.

After twenty-five minutes of strolling through the halls, Bakugou and you turn down the corridor leading to class 1-A, while unlocking hands and prepping for your fake and falsely-interpreted loathing glares.

“Today marks day ninety-six of the class believing we hate each other” you whisper.

“They’re hopeless….”

“But if at any point, you want to stop pretending let me know… I wouldn’t mind, jokes are funny but you’re my top priority”

“Is Bakugou Katsuki getting soft on me?”

“No.. shut up-”

“And they're back at it again Ladies and Gentlemen… the feud between Y/n and Bakugou seems everlasting” Kaminari calls sliding open the tall door leading to class 1-A. Way to ruin a cute moment.

“Honestly the two would probably be best friends if they didn’t hate each other, they both like the same things” Oh they wouldn’t believe the interests you two share.

“Yeah, but their personalities are so different, they’re just not meant to be and that’s fine” What a shock your relationship would be then.

“I’m so glad that you’re interested in my ‘relationship’ with Lord Explosion Murder… but I have more important matters to attend to such as earning my education so that I can be a top pro-hero” you remark sliding into your chair. Your comments are never intended to insult your boyfriend, but teasing his choice of a hero name couldn’t hurt anyone.

Waiting for the remaining two minutes for class to start, you check your phone and see a message notification from a familiar contact.

Babe 💗: storage room during lunch?

Quicker than your mind made a decision, your fingers don’t hesitate to press the send button.

You: i’ll bring the key        

----------

Bakugou was a master of three things. Okay maybe more than three, but three traits excel. His talent, his mind, and his ability to use his fingers.

Bakugou’s talent is tremendous and has been able to advance his goals of becoming a pro-hero. He acknowledges that he was born with such an extraordinary quirk, and has a flair for using it. Notwithstanding the male’s breakdown and internal belief that he is inferior to his pre-quirkless childhood friend, Bakugou unceasingly exerts himself to be more than a student with talent.

His mind is magnificent and allowed Bakugou to comprehend multiple topics of interest. Placing third in the class’ midterm exam, it’s evident that he shines in academic settings. And though few peers in 1-A state that Bakugou fails in the social aspect, you claim the opposite. In their eyes Bakugou is brash, however, after spending time with the boy, you have viewed him as self-reflecting, with social skills that others cannot see.  

While brains and talent may all be magnificent qualities of the blonde, nothing beats Bakugou’s ability to use his fingers. Combined with both his talent and his mind, Bakugou has the ability to make both inanimate and living things explode. And that isn’t related to his quirk.

“You’re imagining events that haven’t occurred yet. Am I truly that talented?”

Flushed and blinking in a shocked manner towards the male in front of you, you ask him if his quirk was mind-reading.

“Hmmm… No, but after seeing you so embarrassed I’d love to have such a quirk so that I’d be able to view the thoughts inside that mind of yours, but I was gifted with explosions... You, on the other hand, were blessed with the ability to swap items on your command. A quirk so useful, especially in times like these when I don’t have a key to the storage room”

“Oh please, just admit that you use me to gain entrance into forbidden rooms” You tease, giving Bakugou the janitor’s key to unlock the storage room.

The male chuckles unlocking the door to the storage closet, “Maybe a bit, though you reap the benefits of getting it” Change of thought, maybe he is brash.

Shutting the door behind you two, you finally express your raw emotions towards your boyfriend, engulfing him in a hug.

“I missed you”

“You came over my dorm last night” What an ass, couldn’t he just accept your affection?

“Yeah, but you go to sleep at like eight-thirty, which means I have to leave you dorm before then, and then I’m stuck in my dorm with nobody to talk to until I go to sleep at midnight, that’s about three and a half hours being alone”

“You’re so clingy… it's cute”

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel less lonely since I go to sleep at like eight-thirty and leave you alone’”

Bashfully looking down at the floor rather than your boyfriend, you mumble your request.

Releasing the hug, Bakugou smirks, poking fun at your diffidence, “With that ask, I don't think you can be shy… Are you sure that's what you truly want?”

Nodding your head you look up to the red-eyed male, taking in his dilated pupils. It's always been him that you’ve desired.

Accepting your form of consent, Bakugou kisses you, enveloping your figure while you sneak your hands around his neck to deepen the embrace. And although the two of you are in a storage closet skipping out on lunch, the feeling of epinephrine dispersing within your bloodstream, inducing fast heart rates, is blissful. A salacious rendezvous with the man you’ve come to love could never hurt anyone… as long as they didn't find out.  

And if one were to catch you two, would they truly stop two aroused students halfway from committing adultery? Would a teacher not be embarrassed if he/she watched as Bakugou hurriedly zips down your green skirt in order to slide his fingers inside of your warmth? Or would someone scamper along hearing the lewd mewls arising from your throat?

“You’re so loud Princess, we have to keep it down or else someone will hear us, okay?”

Yet the person to blame for such noises was Bakugou himself. One could imagine the boy having rough, unmoisturized hands from his explosive quirk, but his inheritance of glycerin allows him to easily travel in and out of you.

“You’re close aren’t you? I can tell. Your walls are contracting at a faster rate and tightening each time I pump my fingers into you. It's really hot too, especially knowing that the world believes you hate my guts when behind the scenes, I rearrange yours”.  

Words cannot describe the pleasure Bakugou exposes you to. A thumb pressed against your clitoris, his middle and ring finger dug past your labia, and you’re unraveling beneath him. He has you under his full control. And how Bakugou feels will determine your release. An untroubled Bakugou can earn you multiple chances of release, whereas the current Bakugou you’re experiencing will rip your attempt at euphoria, despite you being almost there.  

“Katsuki please, I was right there… I’m so close you even said it yourself” You plead, wanting to reach a climax.

“I don’t know… strenuous activities make me tired and I wouldn’t want to upset you with the hour I may fall asleep” Bakugou smirks while tasting his digits, “You taste like caramelized sugar, I wonder where that came about?”

“Suki please, don’t leave me like this”

“It’ll only be for a little while babe, but lunch is almost over, we have to go back to class. I’ll help you out at my dorm alright?”

What more could you do but nod, put back on your skirt, and pretend to hate Bakugou once more in public?

----------

The walk back to class was internally embarrassing. Arousal saturated your underwear, heat filling up between your legs and left you with a foggy mind. You couldn’t imagine pretending to hate Bakugou now when all you could think about was Bakugou hovering above you in his dorm room, aggressively ramming into your hole as you pleaded for mercy. But you’re in school containing students who are not Bakugou to distract you from your misery.

“Y/n pay attention to me, and why do you smell like caramel?” Well shit, is the cat out of the bag?

Looking up at the voice calling, you smile faintly in means of apologizing and mutter an incoherent response to Mina’s question.

“Sorry, and thanks I guess... It might be from the sweets I had during lunch”

“I see, well since you like sugary foods we should go to the bakery today after school, I’m sure the others would like to come too” The pinky bounces brightly.

“I can’t today, sorry! I’m super behind on work and barely understand what's going on in class, let’s go this weekend when I’m free?” What a Lie.

Fortunately, the promise of a raincheck is enough for Mina to back off from the situation and accept your rejection. Today would have been a perfect day to go out with friends, yet the blonde-headed boyfriend of yours decided to be unfair, leaving you to crave his affection. Though, the school day would be over soon enough with only two periods following lunch. And only then would you be able to gain some type of relief.

As if that ideology would be so simple.

Bakugou Katsuki is a man full of pride --rightfully achieved, of course, meaning he knew how and when to push your buttons. Right now being one of those times.

Despite wanting to pay attention in your world language class, Bakugou made it very difficult to do so. Especially knowing that he is the cause of your phone silently vibrating every three minutes in your pocket. He doesn't want you to forget he is the cause of your erotic thoughts. Rather, he’ll keep reminding you that he is controlling your excitement.

However, from the glance across the room, Bakugou didn’t look like the lead in this relationship. His eyes were majorly dilated, with his red iris visually smaller in circumference. Additionally, a prominent cherry hue spread across his cheeks, that one may call flustered from afar. Although, only the two of you understood each other’s physical response towards seduction.

Babe 💗: you look dazed

Babe 💗 : I don’t think that’s the best for someone who wants to become a hero, don't you think?

Babe 💗: this class is so important

Babe 💗: …

Babe 💗 : don’t look at me

Babe 💗: i'm not the teacher

Babe 💗: your so cute trying to ignore these texts

Oh how badly you wanted school to be over

-------------

As the clock hit 2:45 PM, you watch everyone around you hurrying to leave the school and have freedom. And once five minutes go past, 1-A is a semi-empty classroom with two students remaining. Two hormonal, amorous, epinephrine-surged students patiently waiting for their peers to leave the school grounds, so that they can walk to the dorms together in peace.  

Whilst hand-holding may be a shock to onlookers, if they had the capability to read your mind, myocardial infarction would sure to follow. Outstandingly too, if they did not foreshadow the events of you walking within the fourth floor of heights alliance and entering the second room from your left.

“Your room is so homey” You comment. Despite visiting the blonde’s dorm room on multiple occasions, the comforting aura never ceases to relax you.

“I would hope so, I don’t want to be reminded that we’ve been moved from our homes to our school campus in fear of malicious attacks against students”  

“Thanks for that… truly an amazing choice of words” You sarcastically remark. Not everyone needs a reminder of the traumatic incidents students of U.A. have been through, especially when it's clear that students of 1-A (and others) have not received enough therapeutic aid to cope with the events suffered.

One would think that Bakugou of all students would be most affected by trauma, starting from falling victim to the Sludge Villain incident, to being kidnapped by the infamous League of Villains, though he shows the opposite effects. While you cannot see inside the mind of Bakugou and tell if he is extremely traumatized by the incidents and is repressing his memories as a form of coping, you can see what he is physically doing. And at this current moment, you cannot see someone disturbed by his past, but impassioned with the ideas of what is to come.

Tossing your backpack to a discarded corner of Bakugou’s dorm, you throw yourself onto his bed, relishing in the comfort of his bedsheets. You’ve always loved his bed, your favorite moments with him have occurred there. Random naps while cuddling on Saturday afternoon, binge-watching cult-classics after a big exam, or simply having Bakugou’s powerfully built arms wrapped around you like they are now is unforgettable.

“I don’t understand how you’re so built? We go to the same school, attend the same classes and both do athletic training. I mean I’m not complaining because you definitely look good, but it's interesting how my figure compares to yours”

“That's like me asking why you’re so attractive, it's just luck within life, plus I like your figure, it blends perfectly with mine”. A man with such words can only follow with actions that prove it, and the blonde was sure to do so.

Except for when his phone goes off multiple times.

“I think you should check your texts, it may be important”

Halfway sliding off of your body, Bakugou pulls his phone out of his pockets to read his text messages. “It's nothing important, Kirishima just wanted me to join him and the others to go to some bakery since you didn't want to go”

“Oh okay-” Again you were cut off by the sound of his phone going off, however this time, the alert was a long-lasting ring, signaling that Bakugou was receiving a call.

“He’s so persistent, why would I want to go to a bakery when the best dessert is in front of me”

Lightly throwing his phone on the floor of his dorm, Bakugou discards any form of human interaction outside of the bed, focusing his attention on the one he loves.

“You know I really fucking love and care for you?” You do. You fully understand his love for you, from the way his iris shrinks to the rosy pigments formulating on his cheeks when looking at you. And you’ve never once questioned his devoutness towards expressing his adoration for you.

In moments like these, where Bakugou gently strips clothing from your body admiring every crevice, you know the two of you are in love. The boy may come off as an entitled brat, but when push comes to shove, he will bend over backwards trying to make you feel happy.

“You’re so mushy when you're in the feels”

“Oh forgive me for wanting to praise my girlfriend”

“I’m joking, but it is nice to know the feeling is reciprocated”

His silence you took as acknowledgment. ‘I love you too’ was a phrase you didn’t say often, it sounds too forced. Being obligated to say a phrase in return is meaningless when both parties understand each other’s feelings. And it's even more worthless when the actions committed speak louder than words. Bakugou does not need to hear you say ‘I love you’ constantly when he knows you dragging the zipper down of his pants and springing free his cock from the restraints of his underwear means the same thing.

And when you free yourself from the fondling of your boyfriend to meet your lips with the tip of his enraged dick, Bakugou has fallen prey to submission. Having yet to insert the body part into your mouth, you take notice of the male in front of you. Cheeks flushes, head lolled back, visible veins peeking from his sand-colored skin, and light pants as a result of excitement. Hot.  

One kiss to his head and you feel a little twitch. He wouldn’t last long. Understanding that thought you decide to mess with the male, putting half of his length within your mouth and pumping the other half. It was a shame he toyed with you earlier, now he’d face the repercussions. Light squelches filled the quiet air, and Bakugou’s groans got increasingly vocal overtime. The combination forming a sexual melody awaiting to be abruptly paused.

Releasing your lips from the now wet surface of the blonde’s dick, you hear the annoyed groan of the male. “Why’d you stop?”

“I’m sorry were you close?”

“Obviously, but that doesn’t answer my question”

“It’s just that strenuous activities make me tired Suki, and I wouldn’t to make you upset if I accidentally fell asleep”

Tch. The little sound of irritation fell from Bakugou’s mouth, only signaled one thing, rough sex.

“How I’ve come to date such a slutty brat is beyond me. Getting back at me isn’t going to help you in this situation. All you’ll receive is a punishment, though knowing you, you’ll probably enjoy it”  

Although enticed by the proposition, you failed to speak out after being muffled by your boyfriend. Your own skirt which the male had managed to take off earlier now laid scrunched up in your mouth. In addition to that, your arms were now constricted by a gold-rimmed belt.

And while whining in complaint about the new restrictions placed on you, Bakugou alters your kneeling position into one laying beneath him. The primal glare he sends you would signal fear to others, however, you know that the fun is only about to begin.  

Widening your legs apart Bakugou spares no time plunging two fingers into you, stretching the pair apart. Despite being unable to speak, your moans are heard loud enough by your boyfriend to increase his speed. Every sound encouraging the male to continue to berate your walls.

Thinking that the punishment you’ll receive is overstimulation by being one step away from ecstasy, you’re disturbed by the sudden absence of feeling in your core.

“I didn’t say you could come”

Twice today he’d done that. One denial was not enough for him, and that’s when you identified your mistake. Bakugou had the power to reject your advances to climax however many times he’d like. Maybe being a brat today wasn’t the best idea.  

Granted that Bakugou could undeniably be the most ruthless person when it comes to sex, today marked the first time he’d ever advanced into you without warning. The thrusts he implemented assaulting your hole. Even so, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“My god Y/n, you’re so tight, so perfectly made to take my dick”

“You make it so easy for me to unravel within the warmth of your pussy”

“Fuck I’m so close baby, I’m sure you are too”

He wasn’t wrong. The magnitude of the thrusts presented plus the physical restraints and multiple orgasm denials has sped up your ability to reach a climax. You were a mess underneath the man, hoping that soon he would grant you the gift of release. And by the looks of it, Bakugou would provide you with it soon. His cock inconsistently twitching in your warmth, notifying both you and him that he would come soon.

So when the removal of your gag began, you were not surprised. He was close and needed the extra aid of your uncovered moans to aid him to let go. Bare lewd noises ricocheted from the walls of Bakugou’s dorm, and you became thankful that Kirishima went to a bakery rather than located next door. Though had he been, he would have been overhearing an occasion so pornographic, one would think you’re in the business.

They wouldn’t be fully wrong either. Whilst uploading an adult video while training to be pro-heroes sounds absurd, Bakugou has no problem taping to two of you in the act. It may be the idea of possibly getting the video leaked or a similar exhibitionist-like kink, but the blonde constantly acts to videotape during sex.

“This would be perfect on video. The noises you make before you come are so fucking hot I’d replay them until the end of time”

Yet Bakugou is gravely mistaken. Yes, the noises you exhale are angelic, but compared to the rugged groan he calls while releasing his load in you is divine, and never fails in making you follow suit. So when you recognize that tone in addition to the feeling of warmth coating the inside of your walls, you have no choice but to mirror his actions.

“You’re so perfect” He states, slipping himself from your cunt and delivering pecks to your lips while he unbuckles his belt from your wrists. Post-sex always has Bakugou sappy, but how could you complain.  

Wrapping your freed arms around his neck, you pull the male closer to your embrace while nuzzling your nose into his neck. You felt the rapid pace of his heartbeat begin to slow down.

“Are you guys done, because I still haven’t received a response from Bakugou about if he wanted to go to the bakery or not?” What the fuck.

“Did you not press decline when answering Kirishima’s phone?”

“I thought I did…”

“Is that a no or?”

“Of course it's a fucking no, and don’t tell anyone else what you heard. Why were you even listen-” He hung up.

“You think we can go another day pretending to hate each other?”

“Nope… he definitely told the entire class”

“That's a shame, it was fun having them think I hate your guts”

“Awe how tragic… now get up so we can clean you off, heroes in training don't get UTIs”

How sweet.

----------

The trek to school the next day seemed no different than the past. You woke up early to walk to class with Bakugou and strolled the corridors. Only this time while sauntering into homeroom, nobody greeted the couple at the door, rather class 1-A smiled awkwardly as you held hands walking to your seats. Although you wouldn’t have known the reason for the tension in the classroom had Kaminari not jokingly mumble to Sero that he would’ve never expected the blonde to be an exhibitionist.

“Hm, if I recall correctly, I said not to tell anyone”

“I’m sorry my phone was on speaker when I called you” Great.

[missdawnandherdusk]

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

The tricky thing is yesterday we were just children

But now we've stepped into a cruel world

Where everybody stands and keeps score

So here you are, two steps ahead and staying on guard

Every lesson forms a new scar

They never thought you'd make it this far

Chapter 1     Chapter 2    Chapter 3    

Chapter 4     Chapter 5     Chapter 6

Chapter 7    Chapter 8     Chapter 9

Summary: Planning for something in theory is easy... putting it into practice? That’s where the weak are separated from the strong. 

A/n: Hello my lovelies! So here is the second part to the last chapter!! If I had posted it all at once it would have been over 20k words so... yeah. I split them up. Also, this gets pretty dark and well, we all know how HBP ends... so I guess that’s a warning. And to add, this went in a completely different direction than I planned, but now it’s closer to my original idea so... Let me know what you guys think! Seriously, I thrive on your approval. (Also, I’d like to see if someone notices a MAJOR problem for these two kids... because I barely caught it myself) 

“Oh, my darling boy,” Narcissa crooned, nearing Draco’s bedside. She took his hand though he was in a spell induced coma and could not hear her.

“I’m so sorry Narcissa,” I teared up. “I...”

“Snape explained it all my dear,” She consoled, reaching out for me. “You have nothing to apologize for,”

I all but collapsed in her arms, breaking down into tears as she held me. Though Abby and Pansy—as well as many others including Ernie, Blaise, Greg, Vincent, and Hannah—had comforted me and offered me a solace, it was different having a mother there to hold me and tell me it was going to be alright.

“It was awful,” I sniveled. “I thought... I thought...” I began to hiccup with the lack of oxygen due to my tears.

Narcissa shushed me softly and rubbed my back in a soothing rhythm.

“You’re alright darling,” Her voice was gentle. “Everything’s going to be alright,”

She stayed for the remainder of the night and came back the next day. I was only allowed a day off from classes before I had to return though Draco had still not woken. Though I knew there would be rumors and whispers, and though I expected to have to retell the harrowing story again and again, everyone already seemed to know. And more surprisingly, each student I came across was sympathetic and kind to me and even towards Draco, wanting to know how he was faring. Yet the thing that took me back the most was the amount of Gryffindors who offered their sympathies to Draco, rather than siding with their own Golden Boy. Even McGonagall offered her sympathies.

And for the most part, I completely ignored Harry. The best I could. Which... well. I’d like to say that I did, but I can’t. To be fair, he did try to talk to me on my first day back, two days after his attempted murder.

“Y/n,” He rushed out in the Great Hall as I sat down with Pansy and Abby.

“You need to stay away from me,” I gritted out, glowering at him. “You’re a coward!” 

“Look, I didn’t know what the spell would do, okay?”

“No! That’s not okay!” I stood. “You almost killed him! And you would have! Why in Merlin’s name would you use a spell if you didn’t know what it did!?” Bristling, Abby had to place her hand on my arm before I drew my own wand. Her gentle hand allowed me a moment to take a deep breath and cam myself, ever so slightly. “Just get out of here Harry. Don’t... don’t talk to me,”

“Come on, mate, let’s go,” Ron pulled Harry’s arm back, sensing the rising tension in his best friend.

“You’re... you’re not really going to...” Abby asked softly as we sat back down. “About being the bad guy?” She was almost timid to ask.

I sighed and shook my head.

“No,” I admitted. “I just said it because I was mad and scared. I’m not gonna go off and join the Dark Lord,” a sad smile played at my lips. “I... I feel like I have no choice... This path was forced into me because of Precious Potter and I... I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to be broken... but I don’t want to be walked on,”

“And you don’t have to be,” Pansy encouraged. “We all have your back,” Pansy nodded to the Hall. “We’re on your side,”

“I don’t want there to be sides!” I dismayed, scrubbing my face. “I don’t want to be divided because we still do have the same enemy and...” I let out a sharp breath in defeat. “When did it all become so complicated?”

Abby said nothing but wrapped an arm around me, soothingly rubbing my shoulder.

“It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” She encouraged, sharing a look with Pansy. “For all of us.”

After dinner, as I always did, I went and saw Draco. His steady grey eyes trailed me as I rounded his cot.

“Hey,” He offered softly as I slipped my hand into his. Despite his many blankets and long sleeves, his hands were still ice cold.

“Hey,” I echoed sadly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” There was little confidence in his voice. “How’s class without me?” I scoffed and stared at the intricate carvings on the pillars of the infirmary.

“It’s not the same... nothing is the same...” The depressing thought left my lips before I could stop it. “I do miss walking to class with you though,” A small smile played at my lips at my gaze returned to him.

Wordlessly I reached out and brushed a few stray hairs from his face, my fingers ghosting over the pale pink scar that ran along the side of his face. Maybe fortune was on our side because though his skin was marred with scars, the spell hadn’t left permanent damage to his senses. His skin was still chilled under my touch.

“You’re still cold,” I murmured. “Do you want tea? Another blanket? I’m sure there’s a warming potion around here somewhere,”

“I’m alright,” His lips tugged upward. “Pomfrey and Snape said that it might happen, because of the Dark Magic...”

Worrying my lip, I nodded and intertwined my fingers with his pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“What’s on your mind?” His question was soft.

“Nothing and everything,” I smiled. “Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing... but loved most of all, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music...”

“Haven’t read that one in a while,” Draco mused softly. “I think they’re having a show in London over the summer holiday...”

I wanted to snap at him. I wanted to say that it was stupid to think about the summer. It was foolish to think we’d survive the semester. That going to the opera shouldn’t be a plan we made on some false hope that we’d actually make it.

But I didn’t.

Instead I entertained the idea. Just for a while. Even if it would hurt later.

“You’d take me then?” I mused.

“Well, of course,” Draco smiled, enjoying that I was playing along. “Of course, Pansy and Abby would come with us,”

I laughed softly at the thought. The false memory of the four of us in some opera house amidst twinkling lights, dressed lavishly, laughing and having fun. I could see myself on Draco’s arm as he held his head high, smiling soft at my antics. I could almost hear Pansy scolding Abby for her poor etiquette. I could almost feel the thrum of the music in my soul and the magic of the performance before me as I was enraptured again by another story.

“I’d like that,” I whispered softly, tears stinging my eyes. 

“Then think of it done,”

A silence fell between us.

“Can I stay here tonight?” I asked softly.

“Would you expect me to say anything but yes?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Curled up in his arms, again I thought of everything and nothing, utterly exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically. Draco still offered a sweet comfort that I had never found in anyone else. A comfort that quelled my anxieties and allowed me to sleep soundly.

“Told you she would be here,” I heard Pansy whisper harshly. “It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve done it,”

“Yes, yes, you’re so smart,” Abby said flatly. “They’re still precious, aren’t they? Even now,”

There wasn’t a response. I shifted through my sleep logged thoughts and blinked my eyes open. Draco was still fast asleep beside me, his mouth hanging slightly open as gentle breaths passed through his lips. Abby and Pansy were forgotten as I watched Draco bathed I the soft morning light.

“Hey Feathers, Dumbledore wants to see you,” Abby nudged my arm. “I don’t think it’s good either.”

Fear and dread struck my heart as I froze.

“Did he say why?” I squeaked out, carefully slipping out of the bed, not to rouse Draco. 

“No, just that it was a serious matter,” Abby frowned at me. “Are you okay?”

“Do you really want the answer to that?” I mumbled. “Please stay with him, tell him where I am when he wakes up. And if he tries to come and find me, make sure he doesn’t. He’s still healing,”

Timidly I made my way up to Dumbledore’s office, a list of a thousand things that could go wrong sprinting through my mind, willing them all true. Those thoughts however, changed and funneled when I saw that I wasn’t alone in his office with him. No, Harry, Snape, and McGonagall were all present along with the old headmaster.

“Miss Y/l/n, thank you for joining us,” Dumbledore smiled kindly. 

“Yeah... okay,” I closed the door behind me. “What’s this about?”

“What happened in Myrtle’s bathroom,” Snape informed with a monotone voice. “Though I have thoroughly explained that what Harry did to Mr. Malfoy was much worse and you acted in self- defense,”

“Uh... okay...” My eyebrows furrowed. “What exactly did I do?” 

“What did you do? You used an Unforgivable!” McGonagall dismayed. 

“You tortured me!” Harry exclaimed.

“You attempted to murdered Draco!” I shot back. “What was I supposed to do!?” 

“As I said, she acted in self-defense.” Snape cut the tension with his calmed voice.

“That wasn’t self-defense, that was malicious intent,” Harry growled. “You have to mean the curse for it to do any damage,”

“Oh yes, and I’m sure your use of Dark Magic is completely justified,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “And are you really going to play the victim when I have every right to loathe you?”

“Miss Y/l/n,” Dumbledore interjected. “We are not here to point fingers, but rather here the entire story. Both sides.”

“Why isn’t Sprout here?” I looked around. “She’s my Head of House... shouldn’t she be here?” 

“This isn’t a House matter,” Snape clarified. “This is a matter of the Order,”

“Of which you are a member,” McGonagall finished. “Now please, your side of the story,”

My mind processed this information then I began my tale.

“Draco was having a panic attack, so I led him to the nearest quiet place that I could find—” 

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?” McGonagall clarified and I nodded.

“I was comforting Draco—walking him through grounding and Harry burst into the bathroom. Draco got defensive of me, drawing his wand, and Harry cast a hex at the two of us... I remember telling Draco to stop... there was water everywhere. And then Harry,” I glanced over to the golden boy who was sulking in his chair. “Cast whatever awful spell that was. I didn’t think. The Unforgivable was the first spell that came to mind...” I paused, drawing in a sharp breath. “Then there was so much blood. Merlin...” I wrung my hands together in a desperate attempt to wash my clean hands of blood that was no longer there. “I did cast the spell, and I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m sorry for hurting you, but not for defending Draco,”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded. “Well, it seems that all’s well that ends well,” 

Harry and I both sputtered, glaring each other down.

“She should be going to Azkaban!” Harry exclaimed.

“Oh, you should really keep your comments to yourself Potter,” I snarled.

“If I remember correctly Mr. Potter, you also cast an Unforgivable at Bellatrix not last year,” Dumbledore raised an ancient eyebrow at a fuming Harry who instantly fizzled out.

“You cast an Unforgivable and you have the nerve to accuse me! Oh, stars above Harry where does it end with you!?”

“That doesn’t count! She was trying to kill me! She killed Sirius!”

I stared at him in quelled anger. “Funny,” My voice was calm and even. “I could have sworn I did it for the same reasons,” I watched the color drain from his face. “But I get it, I’m not the Chosen One, I don’t get free passes, do I?”

“Miss Y/n,” McGonagall warned.

“Am I free to go? I need to get back to Draco,” I looked to Snape.

He gave a seldom and I rushed out of the office, practically running back to the hospital wing. Abby caught me in her arms, stilling me outside the door.

“Hey, talk to me,” She demanded. “What happened?”

“Harry needs to mind his own damn business,” I growled. “He told that I used an Unforgivable against him after he tried to kill Draco. After he already used one last year! And he has the nerve—”

“Y/n?” Draco’s shaky voice was a lot closer than I thought it would be. It had to mean that he was up and walking.

“Dray?” My anger softened to concern and hope. “Draco what are you doing up?”

“You could have given us more of a warning about how much he would fight us after telling him that Dumbledore wanted to speak to you,” Pansy muttered, Draco’s arm slung around her shoulder.

“Sorry?” I offered, taking Draco’s weight, freeing Pansy. “You need to stay in bed,” I scolded him softly.

“How could you think that I would? How could you just leave?” His voice was trembling and uncertain.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I led him back to his cot, setting him down gently. “Forgive me?”

He nodded as I pulled the blanket back over him. Pansy and Abby aided me in getting him settled again.

“This is so stupid,” He groaned. “I should be there with you,”

“A few more days, my love,” I comforted softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Then you’ll be back beside me,”

__________________________________

Draco’s eyes met the plated silver. His reflection mocking him. His pale skin was decorated— was that the right word? Ruined, perhaps—with faded pinkish scars.

Of course, his mother had been livid. Visiting him in the hospital wing more days than not until he was medically cleared to go back to class, she was there, pacing, muttering, threatening, demanding.

Your sentiments matched his mother’s but ever since the fateful day that Harry had taken him inches from death, you had gone silent with a cold ruthless fury. A look that only faded from your eyes when they met his. Then adoration was evident. Love and dedication was evident. Kindness.

As he stared at his reflection, the phantom memory of pain danced along his skin.

“Hey there handsome,” Your gentle voice caught his attention. Catching the sight of you in the mirror he turned, leaning against the vanity.

“I don’t remember you ever calling me that before,” He mused, slightly teasing—part of him wondering if you were just saying it to make him feel better.

“I know you Draco,” You pressed off the doorjamb you were leaning against and took his hands. “Self-assured, confident, absolutely gorgeous,” A smirk hinted at your lips. “But I know you’re unsteady right now.” Gently your fingers traced the scars on his hands trailing up his arm making him shudder.

“And what of you?” He asked softly, bringing your hand to his lips pressing a kiss there softly, reveling in the warmth of your skin; something that he had lost, his skin retaining an icy chill with the dark magic that plagued it.

“What of me?” You countered softly. “I’m quite assured that I’m beautiful to those who matter to me... call it vanity,”

A chuckle escaped his lips, your words reminding him of Pansy. “No, that’s no mystery. You are stunning,” Your arms draped lazily around his shoulders as you waited for him to continue. “Are you okay? I know you, and you’ve been... I don’t know. Withdrawn? Distracted?”

He feared the anger that flashed in your eyes until you seemed to blink it away. With the fluttering of your eyelashes the ire turned to sorrow. Your shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath you took.

“I’m tired of being walked on. I’m tired of people underestimating me. Of thinking I’m harmless or weak.” You paused but then your eyes met his pleading, “I know who I am, I really do. I’m just tired of other people not seeing it.”

Draco smiled at you, reaching up and caressing your cheek delicately. “And?” He knew you had more on your mind.

“I’ve had enough of Harry thinking he can get away with anything.”

Draco nodded. Before his prejudices against Potter had been just that—prejudices. Now? Now they went so much deeper. The hurt and pain that Harry had caused to you and him was something that couldn’t be brushed off. Draco’s anger matched yours when thinking of Potter, but maybe the difference was he had never seen it from the outside looking in.

“He almost killed you Draco,” Your voice wavered. “If Snape hadn’t shown up, you would have...” Tears pricked your eyes and you quickly shut them. “I can’t... I can’t lose you... and I never want to feel helpless like that again,”

Draco cupped your face softly, your eyes meeting his as quiet streams of tears trailed down your cheeks.

“And you won’t have to, but my love,” He sighed softly and pressed a kiss to your forehead before drawing you into his arms, “I don’t want you to lose yourself... I know you’re angry, and I know you’re scared... I know you wish it would all just go away, because I do too,” He sighed deeply. “But we can’t lose focus on who we are,”

“When did you become the wise grounded one?” You pouted into his shoulder, earning a small chuckle from him.

“Some girl brought me back down to Earth,” He mused.

“Must have been some girl,” He could hear the smile in your voice.

“Oh, she’s quite wonderful, I think you’d love her. I know I do,”

“Sap,” You accused, smiling up at him.

“And yet you love me anyway,”

“I do,” You pressed up on your toes, your lips brushing against his softly.

The day that he returned to class, as expected, he got plenty of stares. Students gawking at him and whispering behind his back. Not that it was new for him. But maybe you were right—he was unsteady. You still held his hand in the halls though, and still looked at him as you would a piece of artwork. And whenever he became uncertain about his appearance your gently smile and soft kisses created phantom memories that kept him grounded.

“Ginny and Harry are together,” Hannah gave off hand one day at dinner.

Draco’s eyebrows raised in surprised. Your face soured a bit as your eyes drifted over to the Gryffindor table where sure enough Harry and Ginny were sitting together amidst their friends. He pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you a bit closer. The pout didn’t leave your face, but your focus reverted back to your friends before you.

Draco hadn’t spoken to or gone near Harry since he had been back to class. The only real struggle was Potions, but Harry seemed content on ignoring him, and with Ernie as Draco’s partner, Draco’s thoughts weren’t consumed with Harry. Ernie was actually quite pleasant in class, Draco had to admit. Though he was a bit reckless and impulsive in a childlike manor, but he wasn’t impossible for Draco to work with. In fact, Draco almost preferred to work with Ernie because Ernie didn’t treat him any differently after his near-death experience. It was a vein of normalcy.

“This should work,” You lowered your wand, running your hand over the mended Vanishing Cabinet. “We should be done,”

His eyes met yours. There was hope in your warm eyes. Draco gave a seldom nod and grabbed an apple from his bag. It was the first test. Though weeks ago, the apple had made it to Borgin and Burkes, the live finches you had sent hadn’t survived. You mourned the small birds and buried them beneath your tree by the lake.

The apple was closed behind the wardrobes doors and after counting to thirty, your hand gripped tightly in his, Draco opened the door again and saw that the apple had a slice cut out of it. You let out a steady breath and went to the golden wire cage, with gentle grace setting down the small bird into the wardrobe. You closed your eyes, refusing to watch as he closed the door this time. Thirty seconds again, he opened the door, and the small finch was there, staring up at the two of you, an apple slice in his mouth.

You let out a scream of excitement and joy as you gathered the bird into your hands and kissing its small head before setting it back in the cage to enjoy its treat.

The next was a crow, easily transfigured from a goblet. Draco ser the bird into the cabinet and closed the door yet again. The ruffling of wings faded for twenty seconds until he heard frantic cawing and agitated movements. Throwing open the door, the crow flew out. With a quick flick of your wand the crow was a goblet once more, falling harmlessly into the piles of rubbish around the two of you.

“I have to go,” You breathed out, words that he had been dreading.

“Y/n,” He refuted. “We don’t know if it’ll work for larger animals, Pinnae might not make it.”

“It worked for the crow,” You pointed out. “Pinnae can make it,”

“It’s too dangerous,”

“Draco,” You gave him a flat look. “I need to go,” You took his hands into yours. “It’ll be okay, I’ll be back. If not, I’ll just fly back here from Diagon Alley.”

“You make it sound so simple,” He nuzzled his nose to yours.

“Because it is,” You smiled, pressing your lips to his fleetingly. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Please be careful,” Draco dismayed as your morphed into Pinnae, fluttering into the base of the wardrobe.

Then he closed the door, trapping you in darkness. Thirty seconds had never been so long.

There was a knock on the door then it slowly opened. Your smiling face was shining as you crawled out of the cabinet.

“It works,” You breathed out, amazed.

“By Merlin it works!” Draco exclaimed, spinning you in his arms.

You laughed and held onto him tightly. The two of you celebrated with laughter that turned to tears. When the entire world seemed against you two, at least one thing went right.

“I love you,” You sniffled through tears.

“Stars, I love you too,” He breathed in the scent of you deeply, burying his head in your shoulder. “We’re gonna make it,” He was almost hopeful.

“We’re gonna make it,” You affirmed.

“Who’s there?”

You and Draco froze, staring at each other in paralyzing fear. 

“Hello?” The voice called again.

You sagged and let out an aggravated groan. “It’s Trelawney,” Gritting your teeth you let go of him, sighing. “I’ll go see what she wants. You get to Snape and tell him we do this tonight.” There was fierce determination in your eyes.

Draco nodded and watched as you made your way toward the exit. He could hear your faint conversation with the professor. Giving you five minutes head start, Draco slipped from the Room of Hidden Things undetected.

“It’s done,” Draco panted out, catching his breath after nearly running to Snape’s office. “The raid has to be tonight,”

“I see,” Snape rose. “And you’re certain?”

You burst into the office just then, also out of breath. “Harry and Dumbledore are leaving to go find something called—”

“Silencio!” Snape casted the spell on you, proving you mute. Infuriated, Draco drew his wand, stepping between you and the professor. “Calm down, she’s in no harm,” Snape rolled his eyes and lifted the spell. “But be careful with what you speak. It is wise to hold your tongue.”

Fuming, you nodded still.

Draco lowered his wand and took your hand.

“Now, you both know the task ahead of you?” Snape questioned. Silent nods affirmed the question. “Very well. He will be pleased, Draco. Very pleased indeed.” Another silent moment passed. “You have twenty-three minutes.”

Draco took your hand and pulled you into the hallway and along the corridors.

“Go, find Abby. Warn your friends. Warn your house. No one needs to get hurt. We’re already doing enough damage,” His voice was soft and gentle as unshed tears lingered in his eyes.

“I love you,” Your voice broke as he cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours desperately.

The kiss was hasty and despairing. Though neither of you would admit it, you both knew that it was a kiss goodbye. The warmth of your breath against his was the last of your warmth that he expected. The urgency of your fingers in his hair was the last of your comfort that he sought. The taste of your mouth was the last of your sweetness that he accepted. The softness of your lips was the last of your peace that he pursued.

“Twenty-three minutes,” He breathed out before letting you go and heading down to the murky waters of the Slytherin Common Room.

The Mark on his arm burned and Draco knew that Snape had called the others of the raid. A plan set into motion long ago, now coming to fruition.

____________________________

“Y/n!” Abby called my name as you burst into the common room. “What’s going on?”

My friends were all gathered in the common room as Abby tossed to me something small and shiny. A galleon. My galleon. From D.A. I might have cursed.

“How does he even know?” I chucked the galleon into the fire, watching it ricochet a flurry of ashes. My eyes met Abby’s. “It’s tonight,”

She nodded, knowing what it meant, knowing what was expected of her. A plan made long ago, that was now set into motion.

“Okay, this is going to get very bad, very quickly.” My voice trembled as I looked at all of the horror-struck faces before me. “But please, I need you all to keep the younger years safe. I need you to stay out of the halls until Abby comes and gets you.”

“But what about you?” Ernie asked.

“Look, you’re going to hear things. Awful things about Draco and me. And I can’t deny them, nor should I ask for your forgiveness. But please,” Tears streamed down my face. “Believe that everything I’ve worked for... everything I’ve done has been for this family,” I looked around the room. “I don’t have much of one by blood, but you? All of you... you’ve always been my family. And Hogwarts is my home.”

Abby’s arms wrapped around me and I could no longer hold back my tears. Soon there was a massive comfort pile and I was in the center of it. My friends, my family all there, all holding me close.

“So, what do you need us to do?” Taylor asked. I wiped my eyes and stood tall.

“Someone get word to the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors that they need to stay in their dorm. You all have about fifteen minutes to be completely locked down. Cast protection spells. Silencing spells. Comfort younger years. Distract them. Do not take an order from anyone unless it’s Abby. Make sure she is not under a spell before you listen to her.” I glanced over at her. “This is a grave matter and lives are on the line tonight. One of which is mine. I don’t know what will happen tonight, but I won’t be coming back. Not for some while.”

“But why?” I didn’t see where the question came from.

“It will all be revealed soon. I love you all. And I hope that you all can forgive me after tonight. No matter what you think of me, please, don’t forget: have courage and be kind.”

They all nodded. I rushed up to my room, changing quickly into dueling robes, pulling my silver cloak on.

“Are you okay?” Abby asked, tying her hair back.

“I’ll be fine,” I drew her in for a hug. “Please just get out alive,”

“You too kid,” Abby smiled weakly, taking my hand. “Sister for life,”

“Hufflepuffs for life,” I finished, looking back one last time before taking off through the window and into the night.

With a soft thud I landed on Draco’s floor. He was expecting me. We didn’t embrace another, but instead got to work.

“The Hufflepuffs?” He asked.

“Warned and locked down. Word was sent to Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The Slytherins?” 

“Secured.” Draco affirmed. “Seven minutes,”

“Okay,” I nodded. “The Mark,”

Draco looked out his opened window and chanted something short and unfamiliar to my ears and I watched as a snake coiled from the end of his wand in a thick green smoke and into the sky merging with a skull. I took his hand, standing beside him.

“I still don’t want to kill him,” Draco confessed. “But I’ll do anything to keep you safe,”

“Draco don’t worry about me. Your mother and I have a plan if things go wrong.” It was an easy lie as I met his confused grey eyes. I smiled softly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“The Astronomy tower,” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Go,”

I leapt out of his window again and circled the school, patrolling, watching two figures on brooms land on the tower I was destined for. The quiet night was eerily quiet as I landed, perched on a sill, watching Harry and a frail looking Dumbledore. I almost slipped out of Pinnae because of the regret that fluttered in my chest, but it was easily pushed aside.

I watched as Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, his hand just meeting the door as I heard running footsteps from the door opposite to Harry. My eyes trained and waiting for Draco missed whatever had caused Harry to keep fleeing.

“Expelliarmus!” Draco shouted, and I sprang into action, catching the wand in my claws and settling back on the sill.

Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, “Good evening, Draco,”

Draco stepped forward glancing over to me then to the empty room. He was making sure that we were alone. I wanted to warn him that Harry was close, but I couldn’t not yet. Draco seemed to figure this out on his own however, as his eyes fell upon the second broom.

“Who else is here?” He demanded.

“A question I might ask you.” Dumbledore eyed me before his attention reverted back to Draco. “Surely you’re not acting alone,”

“No,” Draco said. “I’ve got backup.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said as if Draco’s actions were praiseworthy. “And won’t you join us Miss Y/n?”

Draco glanced to me, panicked. That wasn’t a part of the plan. I wasn’t to be human at all. No one was supposed to know that I was there. Not the Order or the Death Eaters and certainly not Bellatrix.

“I know that it’s you my dear, you might as well join us,”

It was a wildcard neither Draco nor I were expecting. Draco gave a seldom nod, looking utterly defeated. Against my better judgement, I morphed back human, wand in my hand as I took my place at Draco’s side, adrenaline and anxiety threading through my chest.

“You always were such a talented witch,” Dumbledore praised. “I assume you had a hand in this plan, finding a way to get the other Death Eaters into my school?”

“Yes,” I answered, my voice shaking.

“You do complicate things don’t you my dear,” Dumbledore’s eyes fell upon me. “To think if Mr. Malfoy never had you, what would have become of him.”

“I don’t dwell on what might have been,” My eyes narrowed at the frail headmaster. “But rather what is to come,”

“Ah yes, your little job,” A twisted smile curled on his face. “Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy,” said Dumbledore softly.

Confusion flitted across my face. Did Dumbledore know what we were here to do? How long had he known? Why the bloody hell hadn’t he said anything? A tense silence fell between us and I could faintly hear the fighting of Death Eaters and The Order occur somewhere below. I winced at the mental images.

“Draco, you are not a killer.” Dumbledore smiled. The words sounded cruel coming from his mouth rather than mine. Condescending.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Draco snarled, gripping his wand tightly.

“Oh yes, I do,” said Dumbledore mildly. “You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley—”

“That wasn’t us,” I interjected. “You really think I’d allow that?”

“Well you are here to kill me, are you not?”

Silently I seethed, gritting my teeth.

“It wasn’t us,” Draco replied coldly. “And we never figured out who it was,”

“Very curious,” Dumbledore mused. “But you were saying . . . yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school, which, I admit, I thought impossible...How did you do it?”

Neither of us said anything. The echoes of the fight below were deafening. My blood ran cold, torn between who I needed to win. One to protect Draco and I. One to protect my family.

“Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone,” Dumbledore taunted. “What if your backup has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too,”

“The Order is here?” Frowning I met ancient blue eyes. 

“You think I wouldn’t have back up at my own school?”

Betrayal washed through me. I had no idea that the Order was here. That they were the guard against the raid that was merely a plan b. I never wanted them to get hurt. Why wasn’t I told that they were here? Wasn’t I apart of the Order as well? Then it dawned on me.

“You... you manipulated me!” I shouted. “You never wanted me as a part of the Order! You just wanted to keep an eye one me! Never for one moment did you believe in me!”

Draco winced at the realization of my words, as he took my hand, grounding me. 

“Who was I to go against your father’s wishes?”

“My father is dead because he believed in you,” I spat.

“He died for you. Not me.”

I growled dangerously.

“But never mind all of that,” Dumbledore waved the thought as if it were something easily dismissed. “And after all, you don’t really need help... I have no wand at the moment... I cannot defend myself.”

I ran my fingers over Dumbledore’s wand in my hand. It was urging me on, daring me to cast an Unforgivable. Begging me to. If I didn’t get my fury under control, Draco might not have to kill Dumbledore. Because I would.

A silence fell again.

“I see,” said Dumbledore patronizingly. “You are afraid to act until they join you.”

“I’m not afraid!” Draco snarled, though he still made no move to hurt Dumbledore. “It’s you who should be scared!”

“But why? I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe... So, tell me, while we wait for your friends... how did you two smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I hissed. “We had the plan since this past summer. We could have easily done it by Christmas, but Draco and I deserved another year together at our home,” My words dripped venom as they met the crisp air.

“We had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one’s used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year.” Draco explained because anger claimed my voice, deeming me silent.

“Ah.” Dumbledore’s sigh was half a groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. “That was clever... There is a pair, I take it?”

“We don’t have to explain anything to you,” I whispered, my eyes closed as I tried to reign in my anger.

“I see,” Dumbledore smiled. “But I suppose that I was incorrect when I assumed that you were not sure you would succeed in mending the cabinet and acted rashly? It does leave me to wonder who did almost kill Ms. Bell and Mr. Weasley.”

Draco’s grip on my hand tightened. He didn���t like the loose end any more than I did. “If you suspected us, why didn’t you stop us then?” Draco demanded.

“I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders —” 

“He hasn’t been doing your orders, he promised my mother--”

“Of course, that is what he would tell you, Draco, but—”

“But nothing!” I interrupted. “I think Narcissa means a bit more to Snape than you do,” 

“We must agree to differ on that, my dear. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape —”

“That’s marvelous,” I deadpanned. “But trust isn’t the same as loyalty,”

“Isn’t it though?” The old professor seemed as if he were having a hard time standing on his own without the help of the railing. I almost offered my aid. “But as for being bout to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now, we are quite alone, I am more defenseless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted...”

Draco glanced to me and a gave a soft smile. The fear and uncertainty in his eyes caused my anger to morph into a fierce protection.

“I see,” Dumbledore went on. “I wonder why Voldemort has let you live so long Miss Y/n. You really do hinder Draco from what is expected of him,”

“Shut your mouth!” Draco snapped. “She is the cleverest, most brilliant witch I’ve met! If anything, she pushes me past what I should be and into who I am!”

“And who are you Mr. Malfoy? Are you a killer?” Neither of us answered. “There is little time, one way or another,” said Dumbledore. “So, let us discuss your options, Draco.”

“My options!” Draco scoffed. “I’m standing here with a wand—I’m about to kill you—”

“My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means.”

Draco’s aspiration to kill Dumbledore might be fading, but my desire for it was growing with each moment that passed as I untangled a web of lies and manipulation in silence about the frail headmaster before me.

“I haven’t got any options!” Draco despaired. “I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill her! He’ll kill my mother!”

“I appreciate the difficulty of your position,” said Dumbledore. “Why else do you—”

“No,” The fury in my voice was cold and unforgiving. “Don’t. You. Dare. Don’t you dare make yourself the martyr. You have no idea the hell Draco and I have been through together. Your chosen one almost killed him for Merlin’s sake, and you have nerve to offer a false kindness? As if you were blameless? As if you understood?”

“No, you can’t,” Draco agreed to the weight of my words.

“Come over to the right side,” Dumbledore continued as if I had never spoken, “and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban...When the time comes, we can protect him too. Come over to the right side, you are not a killer...”

“Like you protected my father?” I whispered softly. “When will you see we are on the side of good. But we’re not on your side.”

Dumbledore did not speak. His mouth was open, still trembling, as if to find the right words to manipulate us back to his side. 

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs, Draco and I turned, in fear. We were both buffeted out of the way as four black robes burst through the door.

It seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle. “Dumbledore cornered!” he said, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. “Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!”

“Good evening, Amycus,” said Dumbledore calmly, as though welcoming the man to a tea party. “And you’ve brought Alecto too... Charming...”

The woman gave an angry little titter. “Think your little jokes’ll help you on your deathbed then?” she jeered.

“Jokes? No, no, these are manners,” replied Dumbledore.

“Do it,” said the stranger standing furthest from me. He had a deep raspy voice and almost barked the words. All of my instincts told me to run from this man.

“Is that you, Fenrir?” asked Dumbledore.

“That’s right,” Fenrir barked, and I understood. Fenrir Greyback, the savage werewolf. “Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?”

“No, I cannot say that I am.”

Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely. “But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.”

I choked back a sob, struggling to stand upright. Faces of my family flashed through my mind. Whose blood was on my hands and on his teeth? My world spun as I tried to get it back into order. Draco’s arm wrapped around me, trying to keep me upright.

“Ah, the little harlot,” A familiar voice cooed. “I should have known you’d be the one to stop Draco from his task.”

My eyes flashed up, meeting Bellatrix’s.

“She’s actually helped quite a bit,” Dumbledore interjected. “She has my wand, and she’s the one who made your arrival possible,”

“Shut up you old fool!” Bellatrix sneered. “Now come along little prince, we are short on time,” There was an urgency in her voice that made me hopeful that perhaps the Death Eaters hadn’t won but merely escaped.

“Draco, do it or stand aside so one of us—”

I didn’t take note into who was speaking because just then, from the door that Draco had arrived, came Snape, rushing forward and taking in the scene before him. His eyes met mine then went to Draco’s before settling onto Dumbledore’s.

“Severus...” The plead startled me. My eyes turned to Dumbledore who for the first time tonight was begging.

Snape said nothing but walked forward and pushed Draco and I roughly out of the way. Draco steadied me and we both moved to the back wall, watching the other Death Eaters—even Bellatrix fall back without a word.

Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face.

“Severus... please...” Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. 

“Avada Kedavra!” It wasn’t my voice or Draco’s. But rather Snape’s.

Time around me slowed. Or maybe I could register everything around me all at once.

Dumbledore staggered back, falling, falling, falling down. Bellatrix cackled victoriously. Draco was a solace beside me, clinging to me as if I was his only lifeline.

“Out of here, quickly,” Snape ordered, glaring Draco and I down, a snarled look on his face.

He seized Draco’s cloak and forced him first through the door, with me trailing not far behind Draco. I didn’t bother to look who was behind me. Darkness fell over me and I proved blind. All I could do was cling to Draco’s robe and pray that wherever this darkness led, that there was a light somewhere at the end.

The darkness lifted as the starry night sky stretched before me letting me know that I was on the grounds of Hogwarts, not far from Hagrid’s.

“Go! Off the grounds and disapparate!” Snape ordered. “Go home!”

Draco and I stumbled as we ran through the dark. I wished nothing more than to morph into Pinnae and fly away, but I knew it was impossible. Just as we were at the outskirts of the grounds, Draco had to pull me out of the way of a bright red flash.

“Stop righ’ ‘ere!” A gruff voice called.

“Hagrid!” I called in relief until I realized I was no longer wanted here.

“Y/n?” Hagrid seemed just as confused as I was. “Wah are you doin’ ou’ wiff a bunch o’ Death Eaters?”

“I’m so sorry Hagrid,” I yelled into the darkness as Draco and I kept moving towards our freedom. “Take care of Steve, please!”

The distraction was enough to let a few black robes step foot off campus and disapparate. I turned back, a mistake, and saw Harry sprinting towards us, malice and torture in his eyes.

“I was right about you all along!” He shouted. “Don’t you dare show your face here again!”

Before I could respond, mostly just wanting to scream in frustration, Snape intersected the two of us, allowing Draco to grab my arm and pull me off the grounds.

“Y/n!” He called. “You need to disapparate! Go back to the Manor!” His eyes were wild and wide.

I nodded and wand in hand, I landed softly into the foyer of the Manor.

Of home.

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chapter 11

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[pocketramblr]

how his hair do that, 5 options

the following is a crack fanfic in five parts, each section on the same premise but not same continuity. also, very spoilerish

bnha manga spoilers below! very recent leaks below! very spoilery!

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 1

--------

When the heroes first attacked, alarms blaring, compound up in chaos, Dabi snuck away. He let the others pour out of the doors and down the stairs, and crept backwards, turning and running once he was certain no one would notice him.

Not that it would matter much if he did, but why waste the energy on killing them too? He’d need all his firepower today.

Dabi tore through the halls to his room, making it there and slapping his card against the scanner. No time to lose, not when he knew he needed to take care of a few more things before locating where Endeavor was in this heroes’ mission.

He kicked open his bathroom door, hands occupied with carefully pulling the black wig off his head- snagging that on his staples was just the worst, and he couldn’t have blood messing this up today.

Not yet, at least.

Under the bathroom cabinet he grabbed the bag of powery charcoal. It was supposed to be used for some beauty purpose or another, something about enriching hair that didn’t even work- but it would work to darken his white locks.

He poured it on, barely bothering to lean over the sink and keep it from going everywhere. As a final test, he once more wet a bit of it, the color seeping from the hair as it dripped.

He already knew it would work, that’s why he had intercepted so much of it before the quirk cultists could offer it to Toga or Hawks or whoever, but his heart was racing with both nerves and pure excitement.

Finally. The day he’d burn it all down, and make them see why.

He left his door open as he ran back out into the hallway, making a beeline for where he left Hawks. First things first, take care of that, then find Endeavor.

--------

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 2

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“Hey, put me down by that camping supplies store. And Skeptic too.” Dabi ordered, surveying the carnage of Jakku and glancing over at the man hunched over his laptop.

Said man looped up sharply at that, frowning and spitting that he wasn’t going to do that or something.

Dabi didn’t really pay attention to that.

“Where?” Gigantomachia asked, still rumbling forward towards whatever he smelled. Two masters or something.

Compress cleared his throat and translated for the currently blinded giant. “It’s at 4:05 o’clock, I’d say thirty feet forward.” He then looked over at Dabi, mask as unsettling as any of them. “You’ll be carefull too, on your personal mission?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dabi waved him off, snagging Skeptic by the back of his shirt and tugging as Machia scooped them up and placed them on the pavement.

He ran inside the evacuated store, mercifully empty and not decayed, and started looking for the bags of charcoal.

When he found one, he tore it open. Charcoal fell to the floor, and he ground his boot down into it.

“What…” Skeptic seemed without words, for once. Good.

Dabi tore off his black wig, tossing it aside. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You wear a wig??”

“Yeah.” He started to scoop up handfuls of the charcoal, rubbing it into his hair. “Hey, go grab me some water, and then go set up the cameras. We got a show to put on.”

--------

Stinky dumpster boy

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“But my good name?” He sneered the word and all it implied in the world of false heroes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

With that, he dumped the water over his head, and it streamed down over his face, filthy.

The dirty water, practically mud, stung the places on his face where his skin was barely stapled together, and Dabi was reminded of why he didn’t bother with showers anymore- the pain.

But now his true colors- literally- were revealed and it was all worth it. All the truth was out, and the truth had always hurt him.

Shoto, who seemed to be trying to juggle first aid on like, five different people with two random heroes he didn’t know next to him, gaped.

“Come on, I know my face has changed, but my own family should still be able to recognize me, yeah? But you never did. You never did, Todoroki Shoto.”

Dabi suddenly found himself encased in ice.

Ah, this again.

“Yumi’s is colder.”

Shoto’s jaw dropped, then he glared. “Stand back.” He said as he stood up. “He just dunked water on his head, to cool him off I bet. If he is Touya, his body never could handle his own heat. If he’s not… those burns come from somewhere at least.”

Ok, now Dabi was offended.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m not’?” he demanded. “I just revealed my white hair? I know that’s what the picture on my shrine looks like, you never even looked at that?”

“How do you even know what your shrine looks like?” Shoto sounded dangerously close to judgmental for a little brother who was probably as emo as Dabi had been at his age. “And wait, that cup of water was supposed to wash out your hair? What, do you never bathe or something?”

Ok, now Dabi was really offended.

“Of course I bathe! I just have to sponge bath, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed from having your own scars, but when they take up most of your body and are killing you they end up controlling a lot of your life!”

Ugh, asking him if he didn’t bathe. He’d understand that asked of Shigaraki, sure, but him? Shoto had gotten close enough to smell him, at least.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the hero in blue, the one that was tending to Eraserhead, raised his hands. “But uh… do you want some help with that?”

“I’m fine, don’t want to cool him off too much so he can fight longer.” Shoto shook his head.

“I was talking to him.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

The hero waved his hand, bubble of water pulling up from the ground. Then he pointed to his own head. “I can take care of that? At the very least it’ll be cleaned out and um, whatever color it should be?”

Dabi stared at him. Shoto stared at him. The other hero in green stared at him, and the one who’d offered help started to sweat noticebly.

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

The hero nodded, and the bubble of water floated over to him, disappearing in his hair.

The bubble floated out a couple of time, murky brown and black with ash, dirt, oil, blood, anything else he’d never thought about too much. It would wring itself thin, much dropping, and return to cleaning.

Finally, his hair was mostly white and thoroughly soaked.

“Thanks.” He called over.

“Yeah.” The hero answered, still frantically trying to help Eraserhead with his free hand, which he’d gone back too as soon as he thought Dabi was distracted. Buying time.

The other hero was on his fourth facepalm.

Shoto just looked contemplative.

Endeavor, one of the ones receiving treatment, sat up but looked like he was going to pass out.

Well all right then. Time to really start- the hair snafu didn’t matter. They were all going to die that day anyway.

--------

Weirdest commercial I’ve ever been in.

--------

“We’ll be dancing in hell together, Todoroki Enji.” Dabi finished his speech with a sneer.

The watching heroes were all stunned silent, mouths open, eyes wide. The revelation must be sending them, like it would all who were watching Skeptic’s broadcast. This would burn it all down, perfect.

“I don’t understand…” Enji managed to say, spitting out a bit of blood.

“What, you don’t understand how I survived, or how I hate you so much I’d hurt innocent people over it? Because that second part is exactly what you did, take out all that self-loathing and insecurity, rage at your shortcomings and condemn children not born yet to them. Guess it’s a family trait.”

“No, not that,” He waved a hand. “I mean, I totally get how you’re a wreck, even if all of your other siblings managed to not become mass murders, I mean- I don’t understand, how did that pint of water wash out all of your hair dye? Aren’t you better funded after the Deika merger, can’t you afford proper hair coloring?”

“I was also wondering that.” Shoto admitted.

“Same.” The hero in blue nodded. The hero in green facepalmed.

“Water?” Dabi repeated, then looked at the can he’d tossed aside. “Oh, no. This isn’t water- it’s a momento of the only true hero.” He bent down, picking up the can and studying the image on it.

“Stain was right, you know.” He mused. “About hero society being rotten. So rotton, so full of fakes, that there was only one that deserved the title. He just got the wrong hero, guessing All Might.” Dabi snorted at the very idea. “No, the only real one, the pure one, the one that defines heroism, the only one with a kill count higher than me- for all the dear old man and his biggest fan Hawks tried, of course- is Wash.”

“… Wash?” Shoto cocked his head. “Wait, like, Wash, Wash?”

“The one and only. That’s how this Official Wash’s Hair Washing Serum, the only product that can wash out all dirt, dye, and any other kind of grime, in just one go.” He shook the can around so they could see. “What, you all thought I could just magically lighten my hair from black to white in the space of one fight?”

“No,” Shoto said, like a liar, and then he threw a glacier at Dabi, and the fight was on in earnest.

--------

Old news

--------

“And now you’ll see who I really am, who you’ve created.” Dabi poured the bleach over his head, giving it a moment to sink into the hair before he shook it out, grinning wide enough to tear his staples.

The heroes on the ground and the few tending to them stared in shock.

Then Shoto gasped.

“Hawks?”

“What? Where?” Dabi whirled around, looked up, because he was really sure he had managed to make sure that pest wouldn’t be flying or fighting again, but well… he’d thought that once before and been wrong then.

“No, you- you’re Hawks, you dye your hair black when its in Dabi mode, and its that beachy yellow blond in Hawks mode.” Shoto nodded to himself.

Blond? Dabi tugged at a lock of hair, and huh. It did seem more yellow than white.

“How could he be Hawks?” The hero in green demanded incredulously, before the hero in blue grabbed his arm and pulled it back to holding down Eraserhead for bandaging.

“The burns and staples are part of the disguise,” Shoto explained. “Fake, and misdirection. You were trained from young childhood to be a hero, sent to join AfO and the league as a spy, where you gained a fire quirk and decided to switch to the villains’ side because you hated the life you were forced into.”

Dabi stared at him.

Shoto stared back.

Enji stared at both of them.

“How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Slipped from chapped, burnt lips.

Shoto looked offended at that.

“I mean, you’re half right, yes that’s what up with Hawks, yes he was sent as a spy, but I knew and I killed him at the compound. And not, like, in a metaphorical way.” He added when he saw something spark in Shoto’s eyes. “Literally. I’m not him. He is completely separate person and body than me and I totally literally killed him.” Or like. Close enough. “And like, thirty other people who were completely innocent.”

Or close enough, he really didn’t bother to keep track, but thirty sounded like a big number. Especially of murders.

“So then who are you?” Shoto asked.

“What, you don’t recognize me, little brother?” He almost growled it, feeling very tired of this all of a sudden.

“Little brother?” Shoto repeated, eyes wide, then narrowing. “Wait, how…”

“Oh not again.” Enji muttered.

“Not again?” Dabi asked. “Wait, you actually managed to drive one of the others to this too? And cover it up? Man, Enji, you’re more rotten than even I knew then!”

“One of the others?” Shoto looked around wildly. “What are you talking about?”

“I was talking about how Shigaraki also randomly showed up and called a first year student “little brother”.” Enji looked back over at Dabi. “What were you talking about?”

“Shigaraki did what?” The pyro looked over his shoulder, finding the villain looking absolutely stoned on the ground, almost as vacant as some of the unconscious heroes, with a curly haired student laying bloodied nearby, staring up at him. “Wait, which student is his little brother?”

“Midoriya, apparently.” Shoto shrugged.

“Midoriya?” Dabi almost choked on the name. “As in, the green bone-breaking kid? Isn’t he like All Might’s lovechild or something?”

“That’s what I said too!”

“I mean, his hair was also lighter when he showed up today.” The hero in blue pointed out to his fellow in a voice that would have been too quiet for Dabi to hear had everyone else not gone silent as well.

“And bleach boy tried to do the same thing with the bleach, yeah. Here, I’ll tie this off, you go take care of Bakugo.”

“I’m Todoroki Touya!” Dabi snapped. “Or I used to be called by that name, anyway, before you nearly killed me, Enji. Let’s just- get back to fighting, yeah, I’m going to kill you.”

[orsuliya]

Guess what, it’s time for more married!Awu/XQ headcanons, part 2 of who knows how many. Beware of the sappiness!

Once it becomes clear that Xiao Qi and Awu have wildly different ideas about educating children, the denizens of Ningshuo Fortress draw a collective breath. Amusingly enough, it never comes to an all out fight like the one people have been expecting… but still a rather interesting time is had by all.

See, there is no doubt that raising a legion of soldiers is as much out of question as raising a glasshouse of tropical flowers… or root vegetables. That much everybody – from Ah Li Ma to Tang Jing who were both asked to consult on the matter – can agree on. The devil lies in the details. Reading and writing is paramount, but is calligraphy really necessary? Sewing is obviously a must for all, but is fanciful embroidery? Every child should be competent with at least one weapon, but ought they also learn to play instruments, even those with no particular talent for it? At least rudimentary drawing is useful all across the board, no argument to be had there.

The problem is not that Awu and Xiao Qi cannot find a compromise in each of those cases – they absolutely can. Or rather they could... if they were not so careful of offending each other. There comes a time when Xiao Qi blurts out that a princely education is no guarantee of a clear mind or an honourable heart… and then spends the next day or two being strangely apologetic. Which Awu certainly notices, for all that she has no idea what might have caused this sudden development. Yeah, that comment didn’t really register, at least not in the way Xiao Qi fears it did. And yes, Zitan is that much of a non-entity in Awu’s mind.

At the same time Awu might have been dancing around certain subjects, loathe to admit that her husband’s writing is sufficient for the purpose, but would absolutely prevent him from pursuing any kind of serious career in civil service. And since they want their kids to have options, maybe they should think about employing a calligraphy master after all.

Don’t worry, they come clear on both issues! What else are their nightly hug-discussions for, if not resolving potentially painful matters in a relaxed, constructive and mutually satisfying manner?

______________________________

Why would Awu be dancing around certain subjects related to Xiao Qi’s level of education? It’s not like he was ever particularly sensitive to such matters as class difference, right? No sign of inferiority complex there, that’s for sure. Well…

When Awu and Xiao Qi were preparing to leave the capital, Asu made an entire production out of his sister’s upcoming departure. Ningshuo, for all that it may be paradise itself – if one listens to the locals – is rather… provincial, right? No decent wine to be had, no silks, golden bathtubs, first-class inks, high-quality perfume or incense and if there is one decent guan to be had out there, then Turnip will eat his own most decorative one!

Not that Turnip ever comes out and says that Ningshuo is his idea of hell, but still. There is a reason why Xiao Qi prefers not to take part in this whole packing rigmarole; he wouldn’t want to distress his brother-in-law too much… or rather more than he already does at court. Awu takes this brotherly care with good humour; Asu is Asu and it’s true that he would never be able to make it in Ningshuo, but they’re very different Wang breeds and she has no doubts that she will absolutely thrive once there.

The thing is that once they settle in Ningshuo, Xiao Qi starts making those little comments. Nothing really overt and really, they’re made in jest more often than not… But it’s concerning all the same. Self-deprecation is not a good look on Awu’s husband! Well, it totally is, but there are much better ones, so it’s time to stage an intervention.

The next time Awu hears that a Princess like her could have never imagined she would be forced to toil in the field, she snaps. Not like they were toiling anyway – marking out the best pastures is hardly a back-breaking work! So what does she do? Well, first she waits until the evening… and then she immobilizes her husband. True, he may still try to get up while she’s in his lap, but this way he would be forced to take her with him! It’s truly diabolical.

As her second step she asks – very seriously – who is always right in their household and is it true that it’s Princess Yuzhang. Prince Yuzhang, unaware that he’s entering a trap and also rather distracted with what’s in his lap, admits that readily enough.

If Princess Yuzhang is always right, declares Awu, and I am Princess Yuzhang, then what I say must be the absolute truth. And what I say is that you are a silly, silly man. There is nobody else that I would ever wish to call my husband and nowhere that I would rather live but here, by your side, building a future for us and our children. Why, I wouldn’t exchange our current life for any crown and I am something on an expert on those.

It works rather well, that’s as much as I will say on the matter.

______________________________

They do end up employing a calligraphy master for the children. And a painting master. And a slew of other masters as some of the kids get older and develop specific talents. Besides, there is nothing that says they need to limit their educational efforts to their own legion. Ningshuo’s population is booming and there is no better time to found a school or twenty for local children.

Of course most established scholars are very used to comfort and not really used to long trips. In short order, Ningshuo becomes the number one destination for young adventurous men of letters, most rather lacking when it comes to illustrious family background. But they are not the only ones interested in moving to Ningshuo: a good number of respectable old masters also decide to do so.

Turnip Wang tries to warn his sister that she’s playing host to a whole host of dangerous free-thinkers, some of them openly critical of this whole idea of monarchy. Oh, the horror! Awu simply looks at her harried sibling with a perfectly straight face and says that she hasn’t noticed any danger other than the danger of having exceedingly eloquent dinner-companions, which sometimes means that food grows cold before anybody even starts on it. Xiao Qi is very pointedly suppressing a smile in the background.

______________________________

Xiao Qi and Awu are that unbearably cheesy married couple who remains staunchingly and embarrassingly in love even after twenty, thirty years of marriage. And they have absolutely no qualms about public displays of affection. Which leads to some rather amusing moments while at court, but that is an entirely different story.

Now, their kids – both bio and adopted – think it’s the bee’s knees that their parental units love each other so much… but could they tone it down? Just a little? Would a tiny smidge of dignity be totally out of question? There is nothing fundamentally wrong with Father picking Mother up… but must he do it in the middle of the courtyard? And let us not even speak of farewell hugs. And the teasing. Oh, the teasing!

It gets much, much worse once the kids grow up and start pairing off. See, only now do they start to realize what some of their parents’ little quirks actually mean. And most of them mean that Awu and Xiao Qi – grey hair and all – are not that far removed from a pair of newly-weds. More that one son-in-law gets absolutely flustered – some into speechlessness – by the ever-powerful hearteyes. For some reason daughters-in-law deal with this situation much better, although approximately every second one develops… certain expectations.

______________________________

Awu and Xiao Qi do not get it on nearly as often as those poor horrified kids might think. That is they do get it on quite a lot! But it’s far from the only way of marital closeness they enjoy.

The first time Awu and Xiao Qi take a bath together establishes a routine that lasts for the rest of their lives. Dressing and undressing is Awu’s time to be petted and made much of, but bathing? Ooooh, that’s a wholly different matter.

That first time they get into a tub together it’s actually Awu who sits behind Xiao Qi and starts washing him. At first he is more than a bit bashful about it and tries to turn the tables on her, but she is relentless. Finally he starts to relax and once Awu gets to washing his hair, his state can only be described as utter contentedness. There might be some neck kisses and soothing scratches to be had as well, both of which only draw him deeper into a dreamlike trance.

After the water grows cold, Awu dresses them both in soft nightime robes and leads Xiao Qi, still pretty out of it, to bed. Not to have sex, mind you. Just to lie down and breathe together, as close to each other – bodily and mentally – as it is even possible. I am not saying that Xiao Qi cries at any point… Well, of course he cries! It is the first time he’s been treated with this kind of overwhelming tenderness; experiencing such absolute depth of care and love for the first time is an earth-shattering experience for a man who had known so little of both in his life.

They take care to repeat this experience at least once a month; after the first several times Awu no longer has to propose taking a bath together. The first time he actually asks? Her heart grows two whole sizes from sheer pride.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

A Study in the Pains of Romance as a Genre

Ao3,   MasterPost

Wow I can’t believe I haven’t written an actual logince story yet???? who am I, even?? Anyway I love them and their dynamic is perfect. 

Relationships: Logince

Warnings: Self-doubt, insecurity, misunderstandings, flirting (so much flirting oh my god), Emotional Distress, some smooches 0x0. 

Word Count: 4,334

Light, repetitive music hummed from a set of over-sized speakers, which balanced precariously on an elegant end-table across the room. To Logan’s knowledge, the sub-genre of music was colloquially known as ‘lo-fi’. The melodies weren’t very engaging, but it served its purpose as background to the task at hand well enough. Said task would be work. In theory, that is. 

On the other end of the small table/large desk, Roman stared down into a leather journal, his face wrinkled with concentration. He gnawed at the edge of his pen thoughtlessly, drumming his hands against the paper and muttering to himself unintelligibly. His hair fell into his face occasionally, only to be brushed back with a small hum of annoyance. He was clearly immersed in his project, but he wasn’t yet at the point of frustration or burn-out. Such an ideal working state was seldom seen by any other side, but Logan could be as lucky. 

The two dichotomous traits had fairly recently found that ‘two heads were better than one’, in a manner of speaking. Logan’s ideas had so often contradicted the things that Roman had planned for, a difficult issue to solve if both of them were already halfway done with their respective projects, and therefore hesitant to redo any of their hard work. If they worked together from the very beginning of an idea, however, then it was that much easier to find compromises and balance each other out along the way. The two could keep each other on task, as well as stop each other from overworking. The arrangement was purely for efficiency’s sake, of course.

…It did also serve as something of a bonding experience, if Logan was honest.

Regardless, with all that in mind, Logan had every reason to be working. And yet, there he was. Not doing that. 

His and Roman's time together, for all it’s overwhelming pros, had resulted in one glaring con for Logan: what caught his focus had nothing to do with the documents open on his laptop, but rather how his friend tapped those immaculately manicured nails on the desk. The neatly arranged planners laid out before Logan served only as a backdrop to the sight of Roman’s smirk when he thought of something clever. Spreadsheets couldn’t hold a candle to the attention-grabbing power of that smile, repugnantly sappy as it sounded. 

The obvious explanation for this distraction was that Logan, as is the wont of characters in Fan-Fiction, had become infatuated with his artistic counterpart.

The scribbling of Roman's pen stopped briefly, his eyes narrowing at his writing. Logan glanced away from him hastily, realizing just how long he’d been staring, only to hear Roman laugh heartily at his own writing, good God. 

Logan glanced back at him- his face hopefully less flushed than it felt- and quirked a brow. Roman raised his head at the same time, flashing a bright smile. 

“Read this,” he slid his journal across the table to Logan, pride etched across his features. Logan just narrowly stopped the book from careening off the edge of the table, pulling it into his line of sight. His eyes scanned the page, briefly, but he couldn't quiet his overactive mind quite enough to really understand the words. He perceived a vague impression of the humorous interaction between two of Roman’s characters, though, which was explanation enough. 

The smile and nod he offered Roman in return- while mostly uncomprehending- was sincere, and it seemed to appease the creative entity. He slid the journal back across the table, much less forcefully than his friend had, and turned back to his work* (*staring blankly at his laptop screen). 

However, the longer he stared blankly, the more acutely aware he became of the silence in the room. He realized soon enough that this was because the sound of pen and paper had not yet returned from Roman’s side of the workspace.

Still hesitant to be caught staring (it honestly wouldn't have been the first time), Logan glanced up to see what the issue was. He almost startled at the way that Roman was staring right back at him with a fiery intensity, clearly lost in deep thought.

“Roman…?” 

He blinked, startled, though his face immediately broke into a wide grin. Before Logan could ask what exactly had him so exuberant, he slammed a hand down on their shared desk and stood from his chair. 

“Alright, it's break time!”

“You want to have a break? We started only an hour and twenty-seven minutes ago,” Logan tilted his screen closer to him discreetly, not wanting Roman to see that he'd really only done about fifteen minutes’ worth of actual work.

Roman scoffed, circling around their small table and leaning his full weight against Logan's back and shoulders. Despite his stature (very, very short), he was densely muscular, and therefore staggeringly heavy. 

“Yeah, I suppose, but I'm not feeling it right now!”

“That’s ridiculous, you've been remarkably focused all day despite your usual executive dysfunction; in fact, this is quite impressive for you and I’d be loath to disrupt you.”

Logan felt a small swell of pride when he saw, from the corner of his eye, that Roman’s face flushed at the compliment.

“Okay, fine, I’ll admit that I’m killing it today- but!” Roman pushed himself forward, shoving Logan into the desk and slightly to the left in the process, and shifted the logical trait’s laptop up and away from him, “You are clearly out of it, which is also a rarity,” he gestures to the barebones paragraphs displayed on the screen.

Logan felt a rush of embarrassment, but it was quickly overpowered by relief when he realized that his friend hadn't caught onto the reason for his slacking. He twisted in his seat, fighting to push Roman off of him.

“And stopping work altogether is supposed to remedy this how?”

“Shush,” Roman moved along with Logan’s efforts to push him away, taking it one step further by dragging them both into a standing position, “We’re taking a break because I said so, and I already had something planned for us today, so you aren’t getting out of this.” 

Logan tilted his head in bemusement, too caught off-guard by the latter remark to remove Roman’s arm from around him (definitely for that reason, and not because the contact made him dizzily contented). 

“You have something planned? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Well, it was a surprise, obviously,” Roman huffed, using his grip on Logan to steer him over to his canopy bed. At his insistence, Logan sat down, his confusion only growing. 

“You… have a surprise for me?”

Roman rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Do you need a Q-tip? Yes, as I’ve said thrice now. It’s actually been in the works for a while now, but I think it’s ready for you.”

Rather than trying to form an actual response, Logan fell back on a tried-and-true tactic: Correcting Roman.

“The use of a Q-tip to clean one’s ear can actually be quite dangerous-”

The tactic worked, as Roman’s expression went from teasing fondness to impatience almost instantly. He made quite the show of rolling his eyes, moving his head along with his irises. 

“Yeah, yeah, everybody knows and has already stopped caring about that. Do you wanna see the surprise or not, Teach?” 

Well, Logan supposed he wasn’t going to get any work done, anyway. Not with the idea of Roman making something specifically for him clattering around in his mind. 

“I must admit that you’ve piqued my interest.” 

“Good,” Roman gave him a dazzling grin and, to Logan’s surprise, sat right down beside him on the mattress. Logan nearly questioned the behavior, deciding against it when Roman let his eyes fall closed. He was once more the picture of concentration, his fingers tapping out patterns and rhythms against his knees. After a long, awkward, perfectly silent two minutes and thirty-four seconds, there was an abrupt jolt. Logan struggled to maintain his balance, eventually failing when he felt the bed beneath him move so swiftly that he could no longer make out the room around him. 

A rush of vertigo overcame him, sending him toppling backwards with a yelp. However quickly they seemed to be moving, it felt as though they really weren’t travelling at all- as though they were completely unencumbered by friction. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the movement halted.

Logan sat up, hair ruffled and feeling distinctly embarrassed at such a reaction to something he really should have expected.

Roman had shifted the appearance of his room, of course. It was something he did constantly- Logan couldn’t count the number of times he’d found the side unconsciously manifesting surfaces just as he was about to place an item on empty space. But that all paled in comparison to this. The entire room had changed, not just a few pieces of furniture.

They weren’t in a room anymore, actually; they were in a garden. A garden that sprawled out in all directions, the ends (if any existed yet) obscured by the various fountains and trees within it. The sky above was a blanket of darkness, even though it was about midday in the real world. Logan could excuse the inaccuracy, aware that it was just for the atmosphere. That, and also because it allowed him view of the stars.

They were so, so bright. The sky was like a pool of ink filled up with glitter, each flake of which a different size. But the most impressive thing was just how… subdued it was. Roman had clearly avoided cramming the sky with bright colors and unrealistic formations, opting instead to paint a believable sky, one that really could exist if given the best possible circumstances. 

Logan stood up from his spot, awestruck. In the back of his mind, he registered that the bed had swayed with his movements upon his standing. But really, it wasn’t a bed at all anymore; it was a heavily cushioned swing, strung up between two short, thin trees. Forcing his eyes to turn from the stars and take in the rest of the picturesque scene, Logan saw similar trees dotted around the little garden; they varied in height, but each was stick-thin with elegant sprawls of branches. They looked almost like the antlers of a deer.

The most prominent pieces of flora, however, were the twisting bushes of flowers all along the sides of the cobblestone paths. They were so diverse, each so perfectly detailed and created. Some had circular, squat petals, growing in little clusters. Others rose singularly from long stems, their petals thin and delicate. There was only one commonality between them. 

Blue. Every shade or hue, from shimmering chrome to cloudy cyan; it. Was all. Blue. 

Come to think of it, everything was, even if it was subtle. The stone paths between the fountains and displays were pale slate, just edging away from gray; the wood of the trees were inky and dark, tinted a harsh indigo; the lanterns hung up on lamp poles lit the scene with turquoise flames. 

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he forgot entirely how he’d come to be here. All he saw was this- this gift. 

“It took forever, honestly,” Roman’s insincere complaint was whisper-quiet, and yet Logan still jumped at the voice. He clearly hadn’t noticed the trait walking up to him until he was right beside him. “I had to get it just right.”

“It’s wonderful, Roman. This is perfect,” Logan didn’t try to play it down. He wasn’t sure he could, stripped of his snark at the beauty before him. A beauty made for him.

“I’m glad that you like it,” there was something painfully honest behind Roman’s words.

“What…” Logan wasn’t sure what he was going to ask. What this all was for, that would’ve been a reasonable question. There were also some ‘Why’s that he could ask: why on earth had Roman made something so amazing for him?

Logan wasn’t a self-deprecating person. When he wasn’t always positive, he at least maintained healthy self-neutrality. He was well aware of the detriments that accompanied negative self-talk and idealization, so he was careful to avoid such at all costs. On good days, he could go as far as to say that he actively enjoyed who he was. Bad days, well, they weren’t nearly as bad as they could be. 

Therefore, it followed that Logan was being entirely objective when he said that he would not be a good enough romantic partner for Roman. 

There he stood, before this gorgeous, romantic setting that Creativity had made for him, and he could do nothing but worry. Not worry that his harbored affection was unrequited, but worry that perhaps it somehow was. It was unbelievable to him, and he feared it. He feared the look that Roman sent him as he inspected the flowers, the statues, the sky, all for him. 

“Roman, this is… I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh? I’ve managed to get you speechless? That’s quite an accomplishment,” his tone was far too intimate for the teasing words. Regardless, Logan forced a scoff.

“Don’t let it go to your head. All it is is that I’m trying to appreciate your attention to detail.”

“Sure.”

There was another lapse of silence, in which Logan found himself caught up in thought.

When he’d first had the unfortunate realization that he was in love with his friend, of course he’d wanted to resolve the issue as simply as possible. It was only sensical that he inform Roman right away, to see if the feelings were reciprocated. If they were, then the better it was for both of them; if not, it was the closure needed for him to move on. 

A plan like that was easier said than done.

Logan couldn’t just say it, not in the way he would’ve preferred. That wouldn’t at all be Roman’s style, and such a confession would likely garner nothing but exasperation. It would be much smarter to try and cater to the trait’s love of all things prosey, elaborate, and romantic, if he wanted any kind of favorable results. So Logan began to do what he did best: Gather information.

Roman liked grand gestures. Roman was weak for cheesy tropes and clichés. Roman swooned over long declarations of love. The list went on and on and on. Logan found himself letting Roman choose shows to watch in their downtime together, for the express purpose of writing down the details of all the romantic plotlines that he cooed at.

It was always something giant, spectacular, and teary. But still, foolishly, Logic held onto the hope that he could replicate something of the like. The hope that he could be copacetic in this area, so far out of his expertise. 

He’d lost it soon after, of course.

“These are my favorite, you know,” Roman muttered, jolting Logan from his introspection. The side was stood by a large bush of flowers, gazing fondly at them.

“Hm?” Logan stepped over to him, still a bit dazed. 

“Blue roses,” Roman held one of the flowers reverently in his hand, “You’d think it’d be red- and those are classics- but no. I’m quite fond of these.”

Logan nodded. It took all of his self-control to keep his eyes off of his friend. 

It was meant to be a family movie night, that evening when he’d given up on this. But somehow everyone had become preoccupied, except Roman. 

They’d laughed together, debating the merits of even having a movie night at that point. In the end, they decided to do it anyway, of course. Roman chose, and all seemed well in the beginning.

Logan quickly determined that the film would have a pretty central romantic subplot, and so he had discreetly summoned his notebook to jot down anything he thought Roman would be interested in. That went perfectly well, with him scribbling down a cutesy gesture in the film every few minutes. He and Roman talked through the whole thing- as usual- and all in all the night was par for the course.

But then came the movie’s climactic end. The lead professed his undying love for the love-interest by starlight, with a speech that Logan could swear dragged on for five minutes. Accompanying this, the character had hired musicians for the occasion, procured several gifts for the object of his affection, and if that weren’t nearly enough- there were fireworks.

Logan had scoffed, rolling his eyes at the absurdity. But Roman…

Roman had stars in his eyes.

Logan had looked at him inquisitively, a bitter taste filling his mouth when Roman looked right back with the widest eyes.

‘That, that’s what I want,’ that look seemed to say. Logan gripped his pen in his hand, his eyes trying to catch on all of the details in the scene before him, but he already knew the truth. 

He could never be that. However unrealistic Roman’s wants were, they were his own, and Logan could not possibly meet them.

He threw away his notebook after that. 

“Do you know why I like them?”

Logan startled, feeling Roman press up against his side. 

“Wh- what?”

“The roses,” he reiterated, twirling the stem between his fingers, “You know why I like them?”

“I can’t say that I do,” Logan mumbled, moving to step back. When he did, he felt his back hit one of the immense marble fountains, leaving him with nowhere to go. Roman followed his movements, effectively caging him. 

“They calm me. They remind me that everything can’t always be so harsh. That sometimes you need to think things through a little more,” he wasn’t looking at the rose at all as he spoke, instead focusing his attention on Logan in front of him, which he thought was probably significant, “But they’re still roses. They’re essentially the same. They’ve still got stems and thorns and spirally petals, even though all you notice at first is the difference in color. It’s apt, I think…”

Roman leaned over him. The creative trait braced his arm on the lip of the fixture, tilting his head back to stare at Logan. Every time one of them shifted, even slightly, they’d have a brush of contact.

“And they do go so well with the red ones, don’t you think?”

Logan knew exactly what Roman was doing and he didn’t understand it one bit. He’d agonized over countless pieces of Roman’s favorite romantic media, and he knew their scene was fit for any of those movies. All except for one aspect: the supposed love interest. 

Logan was in a button-down and jeans, not a navy suit or a flowing sundress. He spoke with stilted ‘dialogue’ and misunderstood all of Roman’s romantic symbolism, hardly able to give his own beautiful soliloquies in response. He could hardly be called the ‘muse’ for this gorgeous garden gift that Roman had given him! If anything, Logan was the best friend. It was a frustrating character type to play- the nerdy and underappreciated accomplice- but Logan had become accustomed to it. Settled into it. It was what Roman’s favorite genre showed him to be, and he’d fit it well.

When Roman inched closer still, Logan found the willpower to put a hand on the trait’s chest and halt him. 

“Lo?” Roman breathed by way of question. His adoring gaze had turned confused and cautious, with a tinge of worry shining through. 

Logan felt like he was burning from the inside out, even though he knew that, physically speaking, he was perfectly fine. He couldn’t stand the contradiction he’d become, but he could stand even less that sickeningly-sweet affection Roman was mistakenly giving him. It didn’t make sense for this to be happening, and Logan needed his sense back. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, “Why are you doing this?” it ended up much meeker than he’d wished to say it. 

Roman essentially leapt away from him, his hands flying up with palms faced out. After taking  several strides back, he laughed awkwardly, looking nothing short of ashamed.

“Well, I seem to have misread some things, I guess! I- um- forget it, it was stupid anyways.”

Logan felt a sharp pain between his ribs at that, standing up straighter.

“No, I didn’t mean to seem, well, upset, per se- it’s just- why me? What do you stand to gain from pursuing a romantic relationship with me?” He stepped falteringly forwards after Roman, “ I just don’t… understand,” it was a wonder Logan could keep his voice calm. 

Roman’s face scrunched in an obvious lack of comprehension. He crossed his arms below his chest, words coming out slow as though he was trying to make sense of them.

“You want to know why I have feelings for you? What- what I stand to gain?” A bewildered little chuckle broke up his words on the last clause, making Logan flush embarrassedly.

“Y-es, I am far from an ideal partner for you. I know you well enough to know that.”

“And what makes you so sure, hm?” Roman’s expression was bordering on amusement, frustratingly enough; Logan didn’t see what could possibly be humorous about the situation. Everything seemed strangely painful to him.  

“Oh, please. I’m hardly a- a Prince Charming, or whatever it is you’re after. I wouldn’t be able to provide you with grand, elaborate gestures of affection. I’m not supernaturally beautiful. Face it, I’m not up to your sky-high standards at all,” Logan knew his voice was edging on frantic the longer he talked, as he tried to put an end to whatever was happening. To his surprise, Roman responded by shaking his head wildly, darting forwards and taking Logan’s hands.

“How can someone so smart be so, so dense?” He exclaimed, “You are smart, Lo- I thought that you’d caught on by now, and were just waiting for me to make a move. I mean, I was being so obvious.”

Logan, despite the warmth welling in his chest and the confusion dizzying him, managed to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at Roman. The creative trait seemed to understand what he’d said a second later, laughing in embarrassment.

“Oh, right- sorry,” he muttered, “I thought it was obvious, I suppose, with how much I kept hinting at it.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Every time you spoke about romance, it was a hyper-dramaticized version of a fantasy relationship- rambling about your hypothetical partner’s ‘Athena-like wit and humor’, or ‘innumerable acts of kindness’ you claimed they’d give you daily.”

Roman gave him a long, fond, exasperated look. 

“I guess I must think very highly of you.”

“You- you were talking about me?” 

“Of course I was,” Roman’s expression turned solemn. He lifted a hand to cup Logan’s jaw. 

“I can’t believe you thought that I deserved something better.”

“I didn’t say that,” Logan snapped, stubbornly, “I said I knew you’d want better. I never mentioned that I thought your wants were actually realistic.”

“Well, that’s true; you are quite unreal, Logan.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Logan flushed darkly. He wanted nothing more than to establish at least a little distance between himself and Roman, but his traitorous and sentimental physicality refused to allow it. 

Roman took just a moment to find humor in his embarrassment, letting a deep silence follow it. He seemed expectant. Logan was still reeling. 

“...Well?” The artistic trait prompted after a while, shifting uncomfortably.

“‘Well’ what?”

Roman gestured to himself, an awkward motion considered how he had steadily plastered against Logan. 

“This was going to be, like, my grand declaration of love to you, but we seem to have gotten a little off-track.”

“Oh,” Logan smiled apologetically, “By all means, continue.”

“Well, I can’t now. The moment’s gone!”

“If it’s any consolation, you were off to a very good start.”

Roman grinned, cupping the side of Logan’s face properly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good enough that you might consider being mine, mi estrella?”

“Uhm- possibly,” Logan found it increasingly hard not to shy away from the loving look directed at him, and even harder to keep his voice above a breathless stutter, “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Roman kissed him, chaste and beautiful. Logan had hardly registered the sweet taste of sugared coffee on his lips before it was gone, left with only Roman watching him lovingly. He couldn’t help but return the look, earning him another soft kiss. That was followed by another, and another, and then they were moving to his cheeks and nose and forehead as well, and by that point he was struggling to return the affection, utterly unaware of his surroundings.

Roman let go of Logan’s hand to cup the other side of his face, grinning at the giddy laughs that Logan was failing to suppress as the (entirely invited) assault on his face continued. The barrage concluded with a drawn-out kiss pressed to the tip of Logan’s nose, and Roman finally seemed satisfied with himself.

Logan was aware of how ridiculous he must have looked, face red and giggling quite uncontrollably, but Roman was still looking at him like he was the best thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. 

“This is what I want,” he purred, as if it even needed to be said. Logan rolled his eyes, burying his face in Roman’s hair if only to escape the overwhelming emotion the situation was instilling him with. 

He struggled to catch his breath, unsure if he wanted to keep laughing or possibly cry. He was desperately out of his depth, actually, so he was rather conflicted about most things. Everything he’d thought he’d known had been turned on its head. While Logan didn’t like being wrong, that didn’t really seem like the most pertinent issue. 

But there was at least one point that seemed to have a clear answer.

“Good,” Logan murmured, nearly silent, “I want this, as well.”

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls 

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter two

chapters:

1 - 2

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

–

“You don’t think I’m worthy enough to be the king?”

“No, I think you’re a spoiled brat who would rather play with pomp and circumstance than save his own people from starvation,” Levi spat.

Levi’s eyes were closed when the door to his room was opened once more.

“Enjoying your bath, sir?”

Startled, his limbs flailed in the water, soaking the tiles below. Cursing beneath his breath, Levi turned his gaze to give a half-hearted glare at the girl. Her hands were full of linens and fabrics, meant for him, he supposed. “It’s fine,” Levi finally answered, shoulders relaxing as he attempted to lean back comfortably into the tub. “Where’s Petra?”

“Oh, the Madam is preparing your studio, sir.” The girl nervously shuffled her feet, a piece of dark brown hair gracing her cheek as she shifted. “I’ve been told to bring you a change of clothes.” Levi opened his mouth to interject. “The Madam insisted,” the girl spoke before she could hear any complaints. “I’ll just gather your things and return them after they are washed, sir.” His consent was apparently not required as the girl dropped the linens off onto the bed and began collecting his items off the coffer. She was quick, pale hands hastily gathering his belongings. However, when her grasp hovered over the white cravat, Levi jolted upwards.

The sudden movement caught the girl’s attention, downturned olive eyes seeking out an answer to the distraction.

“I’ll…” He felt trapped between her leering and the tiny confines of the bath. “Leave it.” Her hand was still floating in midair above the object, thin brows now furrowed in question. Levi swallowed hard, hands beginning to slip on the sides of the tub. He didn’t want to explain - shouldn’t have to - to some servant girl why he insisted on washing something as inconsequential as a cravat. It wasn’t made of some rare, expensive material. Hadn’t been passed down from generation to generation. It was a simple item of clothing that, nonetheless, had Levi going white-knuckled.

The girl seemed to notice, curious stare fading into a look of something that appeared close to understanding. “Yes, sir.” Her hand dropped audibly to her side. “Of course.” She shuffled out of the room quietly, leaving him anxious and hung over the side of the bathtub like a true and tried idiot.

He looked down at the tile where a large puddle of water had congregated from his splashing. Stared at his warbled reflection as it shook and rippled with every drop that fell from his head. Wanted to reach inside that image and shake the bastard’s shoulders. To rip all those tainted, gruesome memories out of that mind.

That poor, poor mind.

There was a feeling pooling in his gut. Fear? Disgust? He couldn’t pin it. Only knew that the water which once felt like a sanctuary from all of travel’s aches and pains was starting to slowly drown him.

The tile was cold against his bare feet and toes curled as an unpleasant shiver traveled down his spine. The chill quickened his pace to the bed, eager to examine the clothing brought before him. Levi was almost positive that nothing would fit properly. He was, as loathe as he was to admit it, a small man. His uncle had always chucked the lack of growth up to Levi’s malnutrition as a child. But Kenny was no doctor, and Levi tended to never believe a single sinister word that weaseled out from those thin lips.

Fingers twitched anxiously at the thought of dragging their touch across the fine fabrics laid out across the bed. The dark blues and soft beiges complimented each other wonderfully, and Levi secretly hoped that the king would not be expecting the items back after he was finished with the commission. The linen glided effortlessly over his skin, smooth and soft. Surprisingly fitted, as well. Levi would have to thank Petra for her keen eye, he thought.

No sooner than he had finished fastening the last button of his tailcoat, the door creaked open again. This time, however, it was Petra’s face that greeted him and not a nosey servant girl.

“I take it the attire is suitable?” Her hands had migrated to her hips, and Levi couldn’t help but feel like a child who was about to be scolded. Maybe the servant girl had said he was an ass. More likely Petra just had a good intuition.

“Not bad,” Levi said, hands running down the front of his cinched waistcoat.

“Glad to hear it, sir.” Petra hesitated, mouth opening and closing as if she were trying to find the right words. “You scared poor Emmie to death, you know?” she finally spoke. Levi pressed his lips tightly together, not necessarily keen on the idea of a refreshment course in etiquette. “She said you near leaped out of the tub like a madman.”

Levi scoffed, “I think your poor Emmie may be suffering from a case of exaggeration.”

Petra’s lips quirked at that, the stern look in her temple softening a touch as she regarded the man. “She didn’t seem to think so, Mr. Ackerman. You had the girl in practical tears.”

“I tend to have that effect on women.”

Petra huffed overdramatically, “Of that I’m sure." Levi was positively certain that he should be affronted by the agreement. There was a mischievous twinkle in the woman's eye that begged otherwise. “Come now. The studio awaits.”

Levi brightened at the thought. He had traveled so far, and the idea of the studio was the only thing that he was sincerely looking forward to. To hell with the royal family. Levi just wanted to paint.

Petra led him down the hall, under the vast stone arches that supported the great structure. Their footsteps were muffled by the expanse of red that flowed from the singular carpet extending down the path. It was a rich, luxurious scarlet that brought warmth into an otherwise cold corridor. Beyond the rug, there was no other color. Only a bland variance in the shades of grey amongst the stone walls. It was a stark difference to the vibrant Jaeger family crests that flew their proud viridescence along the castle like a silent battle cry.

Or silent subjugation, Levi thought.

They paused at a twisted, metal staircase - the thing looking archaic and out of place amongst the brick and mortar.

“It’s this way,” Petra said as she lifted the hem of her dress. “Watch your step, sir. The stairs can be most unforgiving should you take a fall.” Levi imagined his head splitting open like a melon against the thick stone walls. To be fair, the splash of red would do the hollow halls a favor. However, the color would, ultimately, clash with the carpet.

He held on tightly to the narrow stair rail. It was rusted beneath his hands, a rogueish vermilion staining the black metal. The steps ached and creaked loudly in opposition to his frame being carried up their spine. Thankfully, the journey did not ascend too high, only above to the next floor. It was here that Levi was met with a door. A large, black door that seemed more imposing than all the castle grandeurs combined.

“We had to improvise where to place the studio,” Petra explained. “There’s been no need of one since the young Majesty’s mother passed.”

Ah, yes, Levi remembered her. Well, at least remembered hearing the tales. He’d never been so lucky as to meet the woman in the flesh. The beautiful and elegant Carla Jaeger. Shinganshina was truly a different land with the queen on the throne. Her peaceful hand helped keep the king’s tumultuous relationship with Marley in check. Some say it was her doing altogether. There was truly no one better fit to rule over the people. And then she died. Suddenly and with no warning, leaving Shinganshina with a manic king and two motherless sons. Soon after, the fragile peace with Marley had launched into an all-out war.

The residents of Shinganshina could do nothing but watch the world around them crumble while silently mourning the loss.

“A shame,” he murmured, sharp eyes studying the intricate patterns warped into the wood of the door. Looked a lot more likely the room would be housing an alchemist’s laboratory than an artist's workshop.

“Indeed.” Petra voice had lost the giddy edge, and she wrung dainty hands as the true intent of Levi’s comment weighed heavily in the air. It appeared that not only the villagers were still feeling the ill effects of the queen’s loss. The woman seemed to steel herself as she took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Mr. Ackerman. You’ve only just arrived, and I am already burdening you with unpleasant memories. You must think me a very poor excuse for a housekeeper.”

“It’s no trouble-”

“We shall make a glorious evening of this yet!” A pale fist was raised high into the air as she beamed with triumph. Levi couldn’t help but offer her a subtle upturn at the corner of his mouth.

“Come, look at what we've pieced together for you,” Petra said as she pulled on the large, bronze handle. “I’m sure you’ll be absolutely marveled.” Levi had his suspicions. It was foolish to think that the king knew a single element that would be required of an adequate studio.

The entrance opened with a satisfying click, followed by a long drawn-out creak that preceded a breeze of cold air from the other side.

And then, light.

The room was positively bathing in it.

Vertical windows lined the outer wall, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling. The effects of the evening sun shone unconstrained through the glass, painting the room in a bewitching orange glow. So, the king did know something about the art of portraiture after all. Or perhaps this was all Petra’s doing. Turning to look at the bright, expectant smile lighting up her features, Levi suspected it was the latter.

There was miscellaneous furniture placed throughout the room. A plush green sofa, purple needlepoint armchairs, a rustic wooden bureau. However, what stood out most of all to him was the fireplace. Elegantly crafted from carved stone and decorated with hints of teal and gold, the fireplace seemed to perfectly embody the image of an ideal royal heir. Strong and bold, yet handsome and rich. Levi detested the thought of comparing it to a spoiled brat, but couldn’t deny that the object would be the perfect backdrop to the painting.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Petra’s smile had not faded as she stood in the doorway. Levi felt a bit like their roles had been reversed - Petra morphing from chastising mother to expectant child eagerly waiting for praise. He indulged her, giving a quick nod of his head.

“You’ve done well, Ms. Ral. I look forward to capturing the prince’s likeness here.” The words were a half-truth. To paint again and be compensated for his talents, that was what he yearned for. The damn dirty prince could burn in a thousand hells as far as Levi was concerned.

“I am honored, truly, sir.” Petra bowed lowly. He stiffened, not accustomed to the actions one would typically reserve for nobles and royalty. If only the woman knew that she was most undoubtedly wealthier than the man to whom she so easily bent her head. “I will have one of my girls bring your supplies here if that is quite alright?” He could easily manage this on his own, but Levi was positive that Petra had certainly already sent one of the servant girls into his room. Agreeing with her now was simply common courtesy.

Levi made a vague noise of approval. “Of course.” He turned to begin a more thorough inspection of the studio when the sound of quickened footfall called his gaze.

“Oh, Mr. Ackerman, I’m sure that you are eager to get to work, but you must remember.” Levi quirked a suspicious brow. “I said this would be a most glorious evening. What is a magnificent affair without a proper meal to finish off the day?” Petra looked at him as if she were anticipating an answer, but Levi fancied that the woman would enlighten him without his query. “His Majesty has ordered the chef to prepare the finest venison and vegetables I’m sure you’ve ever indulged upon. You are the guest of honor, after all.” Levi tried not to let his expression sour. This was inevitable, wasn’t it? He could not very well manage to paint a picture of the king’s son without at least meeting the royal family first. The thought alone made Levi’s skin itch.

"That's not necessary," he tried, tongue heavy in his mouth as he searched for a suitable escape.

"Oh, don't be silly, Mr. Ackerman," Petra laughed, "I'm sure you are absolutely famished. And His Majesty insisted, after all." Levi felt his face morph into a sneer as his jaw tightened.

His Majesty insisted.

Of course, the bastard insisted.

“As His Majesty orders.” Hopefully, the venom in his tone was not too apparent. If it was, Levi would simply blame it on the journey. A strenuous voyage could make any man affable. Petra's smile fell, and Levi inwardly cringed. He'd have to watch his mouth, the damned thing it was. Got him in a fair amount of scuffles in his youth. However, the stakes here were much higher than a black eye or bloody nose. “Lead the way,” he continued, trying not to sound so incredibly vexed. Petra nodded silently, all former excitement replaced with a disposition as if she’d just sentenced a man to place his head on the block.

“Certainly. Please follow me, sir.” She quickly turned on her heel, the bounce in her step replaced with a rigid tread. Thin nostrils contracted as he heaved a deep sigh.

This was inevitable, Levi reminded himself. And he began his march towards the dining hall, leaving the cold chill of the studio behind him.

[theuntamedmdzssideblog]

This was written because of a random headcanon that went wildly out of control with, and written for, my best friend @vitaminpusher She insisted I post it, so here it is:

It wasn’t love at first sight. No, it wasn’t anything as silly as that. Xiao Xingchen would admit that Song Zichen was beautiful and graceful. He could never deny that. But it wasn’t love then. He was enamored of the man in black, and respected his obvious abilities. Love grew slowly as he got to know Zichen. He fell in love with his beliefs, his morals, his dreams, all his little quirks.

Xingchen didn’t notice at first. While a physically affectionate person, he didn’t go around touching people he didn’t know well randomly. It took a few days of traveling together before it happened. It wasn’t dark yet, but would be getting dark very soon. They were passing by a clearing that would be a perfect spot to rest for the night. Not thinking, he reached out and grabbed lightly onto his companion’s wrist. Before he could speak, Zichenhad jerked out of his light hold as if he had been hit with spiritual energy charged with killing intent. Xingchen drew back and looked at Song Lan, not knowing if he should apologize or ask if he was okay. Zichen looked away from his confused gaze and spoke quietly. His voice sounded loud in the silent air. “I… don’t like to be touched.”

Xingchen smiled and nodded once the embarrassed man looked back. “Okay.” He said simply and then pointed to the clearing. “We could camp here for the night. What do you think?” No more was said on the matter for several weeks. That is until he began to notice something else. Zichen flinched from human touch. Fierce corpses, restless spirits, demons and ghouls could all grab and paw at him and he would never flinch. But if a human even brushed against him on accident, he would flinch and jerk away like he was being struck. Noticing this wasn’t what caused Xingchen to say something though. It was the pained and embarrassed look that would always cross Zichen’s face when it happened. He may hate touch, but he disliked his reaction to it even more.

Xingchen wanted to help. He was aware of himself to know he was already falling for this man. He wasn’t in love with him yet. They had only been traveling together for half a year, but he could be soon. He may not be in love yet, but he cared for him deeply. And he wanted to help him. He didn’t care if the man never wanted to be touched, but he couldn’t stand that pained look on his face every time he acted like he was afraid.

The night they finally stayed at an inn, he decided to confront him and offer his help. Before they retired for the night, he asked Zichen if they could talk. He explained to him what he had seen his reaction to touch and thought he might have an idea that would help him. Song Lan rose and took a defensive, aggressive stance and sneered down at him.

“You think you can ‘fix’ me, Xiao Xingchen?” Xingchenflinched slightly. They had only dropped surnames a few weeks previous, but it already hurt to hear it used again; even more so in that tone. He had never heard that tone come from Zichen before. It was harsh and coated with contempt and betrayal. No, he could live the rest of his life happily if he never heard that tone from his friend again. He shook his head and spoke quickly, “Never. There is nothing to fix, Zichen.” He continued once he saw the man relax, albeit only slightly. “You liking or disliking touch matters naught to me. You have your reasons-“ he held up a hand when the scowl became even darker and he had opened his mouth. “which are your own and none of my business. I am not asking you to tell me. You will tell me when you choose or not at all. I will not pry. That isn’t even why I brought it up. I never would have spoken of it at all except that I have seen your face after you jerk away from strangers. You may not care that you don’t like touch, my friend, but you do care about your reaction to it. I have tried to keep myself between you and others so they do not touch you, but I cannot always do so.” He shook his head when he saw the mix of mild guilt and embarrassment on his face. “I do not mind, Zichen. It is a small thing and I am happy to do it for you.” His honest and earnest voice wiped the look from his face and he was happy to see him relax even more. “I only wish to help you not react in such a way anymore, not ‘fix’ you. You aren’t broken, my dear friend, so what do you think I could possibly wish to fix?”

Zichen finally sat back down and they spoke through the night and into the early morning. Just before dawn, they settled down for a few hours of sleep. As he drifted off, Xingchen smiled. He may not be in love yet, but he was falling fast.

They had been traveling together for a year now, and Zichen no longer flinched violently when Xingchenbrushed his fingers against his hand or lightly touched his back. He still jerked away when his wrist was grabbed, but if Xingchen moved slowly, he would keep himself still and allow the hold for a few seconds before he became too uncomfortable and had to pull away.

The first time that Zichen was bumped into by an overly grateful granny and he didn’t jerk away, Xingchen couldn’t help the small smile he flashed at the man. But when he saw the look in Zichen’s eyes when he realized what hadn’t happened, Xingchen’s golden core expanded so rapidly through his body he almost lost control of it. It had taken close to a full year to get this far, but they had done it.

He didn’t stop the casual touches. Zichen didn’t ask him to either. He still avoided touch from anyone else, still loathed the touch of strangers, but he didn’t pull away when Xingchen would brush his shoulder or back with his palm. Xingchen knew what a gift he was being given. He never took it for granted; was thankful for every moment Zichen didn’t pull away. He relished in the way his friend would walk cloely at his side so that he only had to reach out slightly to brush a fingertip over a hand or arm. He never took advantage of this. He knew if he did it too much, touched for too long, he would grow uncomfortable and he didn’t want that. He never wanted to make Zichenuncomfortable.

One night, they were settling before a fire and Zichencame and sat beside him. Xingchen didn’t question this new development. They sat and spoke like usual.Thesecond night when, once again, he sat next to him, Xingchen leaned slowly until his shoulder and upper arm was softly touching his. “Is this okay?” he quietly asked, needing to know that he wasn’t pushing too far. He stayed quiet and unmoving as Zichen thought. He smiled in relief when was answered with a small nod and he felt the man relax. A new routine was formed. When Zichen would sit next to him, Xingchen would lean in. Only their shoulders and arms would touch, but that was all they needed. If Zichen sat across the fire or table like he used to, Xingchen never asked him to move or questioned why. He knew his friend’s actions by now. He could not handle being touched anymore on those days, not even from him and he wouldn’t push him for more than he could deal with.

One morning, many years into their friendship, Xingchenwatched Zichen comb his hair and put it up in a simple knot. Hesitantly, he opened his spoke, “Zichen,” he said softly into the early morning air He fought away a blush when those dark eyes looked questioningly into his own. “May I…” he swallowed and pushed on. “style your hair for you?” He swallowed his reaction to tell the man to forget what he had just said when he saw the apprehension appear. Instead he sought to reassure him. “It’s okay if you say no. It’s just something I would like to do, that’s all.”

He refused to show his disappointment when Zichenturned away. He couldn’t hide his surprise, however, when Zichen suddenly walked to him and handed him the comb and hairpin with only slightly trembling hands. He smiled widely when Zichen sat in front of him in silent permission.

The surprise of that first morning was nothing compared to the shock he felt that night when he was once again silently handed the comb so that he could take Zichen’shair down. From that day on, Xingchen would comb and style Zichen’s hair before doing his own.

A few months later, Xingchen realized that he was fully and forever in love with Song Zichen. He could cultivate into immortality and in four thousand years, he would still love this man just as much. And as he looked at Zichen’sshy, embarrassed face and then down to the new comb he had just given him, he thought maybe, possibly, he loved him back just a little.

He found himself studying the comb every day as it glided smoothly through Zichen’s hair. It was simple, unadorned with carvings, but it was perfect. Unadorned it may be, but the proof of skilled craftsmanship showed better this way. It took great skill to successfully meld the two woods together. It was made of two different woods; one so dark it was almost black, the other a pale blond wood. He ran his finger across the seam where the dark and light woods met. Like the Taoist symbol Zichen carried on his sword, like and dark – balance. He smiled and went back to running the comb carefully through Zichen’s hair. ‘Like us’ he thought fancifully. The comb really was perfect. He began to think of a possible gifts that could be just as perfect to give in return.

Xingchen smiled to himself as he saw Zichen’s fingers twitch again. He knew what Zichen wanted to do. He also knew it would take the man a long while to actually do it. It always did. Zichen always had to take the time to decide if the truly wanted to touch Xingchen or not. He wasn’t afraid of rejection. He had assured Zichen long ago that he would never reject any touch he wanted to give as long asit was really what he wanted to do and not what he thought Xingchen wanted. After that conversation, Zichenhad relaxed, but he always had to think for a long time about each new touch to decide if he really wanted to or not. The more intimate the touch, the longer it took. So Xingchen waited patiently. From the way his fingers twitched and the aborted movements he made, he knew the other man would eventually decide to do it. He just hadn’t admitted to himself that he really wanted to yet.

Xingchen hoped he came to his decision soon. He couldn’twait to fee Zichen’s fingers in his hair. He loved taking care of Zichen this way. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. But he adored the trust Zichen expressed when he touched Xingchen in return. But he would wait, no matter how long it took. He could be patient.

A month later, it all fell apart. Xingchen’s heart broke when Zichen yelled at him and blamed him for everything. His heart shattered, however, when he reached down to lay his hand on Zichen’s shoulder and the man jerked back so violently, he fell over over and screamed, “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Everything was over.

He stood over the sleeping man, listening to his even breaths. He wished he could look at his face one more time, to see it relaxed in sleep and no longer red and swollen from the powder that took his sight. He consoled himself with the knowledge that the man he loved so dearly would wake tomorrow with his sight back. He listened to the peaceful, steady breaths for a few more moments. His fingers itched to reach out and touch for the last time. He didn’t though. Zichen never wanted to be near him again and had screamed out his desire to never be touched by him again. Xichen refused to violate him in such away while he was unaware. No, he wouldn’t touch him again. He wasn’t that selfish; not that cruel, no matter how much he wished to. He allowed himself one selfish action, though. He kept the comb Zichen gifted him. He thought, for one moment, about returning it. He had even pulled it out to lay it on the bed beside him. But once it was in his hand, he had run his finger over the seam where light and dark met and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’tgive back this reminder that Zichen used to care for him. Used to love him. Use to trust him. He may not have that anymore, may not have Zichen anymore, but he would have this. He would be selfish in this. He tucked the comb away again, took a deep breath, and sighed a soft goodbye. His heart shattered into even tinier shards as he forced himself to walk away. Zichen would see again, it was all he could do for him and it would have to be enough.

He smiled for the first time since Zichen yelled at him when he was able to use his sword again successfully. He could help people again. He smiled for the second time when he met the girl, A-Qing, and she tried to rob him. She was so full of life, it was impossible not to smile around her. He didn’t have the heart to tell her no when she announced that she would be staying with him. And if he was honest, he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Maybe, with someone else around, he would stop dreaming of what-had-been.

The man they saved was mysterious and interesting. He never offered his name, and Xingchen never asked. He knew he was hiding more than just his name, but he never asked about that either. At first, it was because he didn’twant to get too close to anyone else, but soon it was because it no longer mattered. They grew close faster than Xingchen thought possible, but he didn’t care. He found himself relishing in the way this man all but melted into his touch. A-Qing would throw herself on him in an almost possessive manner, but only tolerated a light pat on the head from time to time, more happy to skip circles around him any other time.

It took a year of the three living together before the man was comfortable enough to give them a name to call him by. Only his courtesy name, Chengmei, but it was enough. He hugged him, lightly so he didn’t feel trapped, and whispered, “thank you, Chengmei” into his hair. He petted the tangled hair lightly when he melted into Xingchen’sarms.

The first time Xingchen caught himself carding his fingers through the ends of Chengmei’s hair as his head rested on his shoulder, he froze and fought back tears. The head lifted and a sweet voice asked him if something was wrong. He shook his head and smiled, resuming the rhythmic movement of his fingers. Could he do this? He hadn’t thought when he began playing with Chengmei’shair. It was a comforting action for his as well as Chengmei. But now that he was aware of what he was doing, it hurt.

He thought about his reaction for a long time. He was confused. Loving someone else, because that is what had happened, didn’t make him feel guilty. Knowing he had fallen in love with Chengmei didn’t hurt. But playing with his hair, taking care of him the same way he used to take care of Zichen, that tore him up inside. He wanted to. Ohhow he wanted to take care of Chengmei in that way. He wanted so badly to show this man that he loved him. He wanted to run his fingers through the full length of his hair. He wanted to gather it up and feel it fall softly down again. He wanted to know if he would relax fully to his ministrations. He ached to find out how he would react to his show of love.

But it hurt just to think about doing something he had only ever done for Zichen for someone else. He knew he was acting like the man had died, but in a way, he had. He knew the love Zichen had felt for him had died that day and Xingchen had grieved that death. He grieved still and always would. And though he loved a new person, the love and pain he held for Zichen would always be there. He wasn’t being fanciful when he said four thousand years. It was true then and was still true now.

Eventually, the pain lessened as he stopped being bombarded with memories every time he touched Chengmei’s hair. He contented himself with little touches of his hair. Finger combing the ends, light petting along the length. But he still wished he had the strength to pull out his comb.

They had been living in Yi City together for four years. It had been seven since he had lost Zichen. As he and Chengmei relaxed together before the fire, Xingchendecided he was ready. He pulled away and shushed Chengmei when he made a noise of protest. “I want to do something for you.” He moved behind the other man and stroked his hair for a few moments and smiled as he relaxed again and stopped complaining. The smile stayed as he pulled the comb from his sleeve. His smile grew, and a feeling of content satisfaction bubbled up when Chengmei relaxed so much he slumped a little and a deep sigh fell from his lips at the first stroke of the comb through his hair.

Xingchen was so content that the burst of pain that shot through his heart almost made him cry out. At first, he didn’t even know what had caused the painful image to flash through his mind. The hair was the wrong length, a slightly different texture. What had caused him to remember combing Zichen’s hair so vividly that he could even smell his scent? His finger twitched and he suddenly knew. He cursed himself even as he rubbed the seam again. He should have gotten a new comb long ago, or at least asked Chengmei for his. He couldn’t even comb his own hair longer than it took to get it pulled back from his eyes, why did he think he could use it to comb someone else’s?

His free hand twitched and he gripped the hair in it lightly, tugging slightly in his loss of control. He took long, deliberate breaths, fighting against the urge to curl up in the dirt and sob out his pain. He startled slightly as another hand covered his. “Xingchen? Are you alright?” He smiled, lips trembling, and nodded, unable to speak yet. He cleared his throat and released the hair from his fist, petting it lightly in apology. He cleared his throat once more and spoke in a broken whisper. “Yes. I’m okay. Thank you.” He took another breath, this one a little steadier and raised shaking hands to resume combing. The rhythmic motions were familiar, soothing. No less painful, but soothing just the same. They must have been too familiar, however, because he suddenly found his hands were making a familiar topknot. He freezes once again, trembling, shaking violently. He lets go of the knot and just stands there fighting for breath. He startles more violently than Zichen ever had when he feels hands wrap around his own. “Hey, it’s okay,” he hears Chengmei’svoice, soft, soothing, like he is trying to calm a frightened animal. “It’s just me. What’s wrong?”

‘I forgot,’ he thinks. ‘I forgot, that’s what wrong. Remembering hurts so much more when you let yourself forget. Even if it’s only for a moment.’ He squeezed the hands in his and took large, gulping breaths. Forcing away the memories and tears, he made himself smile and shook his head again. “I’m fine,” he managed to whisper. ‘Sorry’ he said in his head, though to which man, he didn’t know. Perhaps to both. He managed to get Chengmei to turn back around and let him resume combing his hair. His smile became genuine, though still shaky, when he heard Chengmei tell him he didn’t have to comb his hair if it upset him. This is one of the reasons he loved Chengmei. He hid behind his tough attitude and cruel words, but under it all, he still cared. He might only care for him and A-Qing, but he cared. This is why he was so determined to do this. He might be on the edge of breaking completely right now, but he would show this man how much he cared for him, how much he loved him, no matter how much it hurt.

He sacrificed his eyes for Zichen hadn’t he? He could sacrifice himself in this way for Chengmei. He steeled himself and began again, pushing back the urge to break down, and forcing himself to stay in the present. This moment is for Chengmei, not his memories of another. Not for himself.

He smiled, even as he lost the battle with his tears, as Chengmei relaxed once again. He reveled in the contented hums and sighs that slipped past those lips that are usually pursed in a snarl and spat snark at every available opportunity. He rejoiced in being able to express his love for this man in any way, but especially like this. He smiled and his heart swelled with love for this beautiful, wonderful man even as he cried bloody tears and he heart broke all over again for a different but no less beautiful, wonderful man.

Tomorrow, he would learn just who Chengmei was. Tomorrow, he would learn what he had unknowingly done. Tomorrow, he would learn that his new love had tricked him into killing his old love. Tomorrow, he would feel his heart fall to dust as he draws his own blade across his throat. Tomorrow, he would know heartbreak like he has never felt before. That was tomorrow though. Tonight, he would show Chengmei that he was loved the best way he could. Tonight, he would let the man he loves tenderly wipe away his tears of blood as they both whisper tender words of comfort and reassurance to each other. Tonight, he would simply love and let everything else go.

[r00en]

Still Good Chapter 4.

Small talk over dinner turned to a heavy topic as the great All Might gets a bit of perspective he's never seen before as he comes to terms with his feelings no matter what they might be. All Might finds out the price normal hero’s pay every day to make the world a brighter place...and he’s not sure he likes it. 

All Might x Reader (OC) 

Warning: Mentions of gore and blood. It only get’s worse from here folks! Oh...did you think this was gonna be a cute rom-com filled with sooches and wuv? NU! I make you WORK for that love! (Edited, added a line or two and fixed a bunch of mistakes that were glaring)

The lull of light dinner conversation mixed with the quiet muttering of the T.V behind them was soothing in a way. There was so few pauses that Toshi could let his mind focus on the topics at hand or things she pointed out on the program over his fluttering heart and twitching nerves. He wasn't so surprised that she was a decent cook. As bland as his food needed to be she picked a rather mild meat rub before cooking his chicken and even finished it off with a few minuets of baking to give it more of a texture over the rubbery feel it had when boiled. He had to admit it was a nice change of pace and tasted great. So much so that Toshi found himself hoping she would make it for him again. Bento boxes every day in a goofy All Might style bento with a little note from her would be the literal definition of heaven. He watched as she happily shoveled some meat in her mouth, catching the happy little hum of enjoyment she let out. A bit childish, not at all proper but Toshi wouldn't change her for the world. Her puffy cheeks filled with food and utterly thrilled expression over something so simple was adding to the atmosphere. Could he ask to stay the night? Make up some kind of excuse like his side hurt or it was too late for the trains. If he pretended to be in pain she might kiss his side again and his guts gave a thrilled twist as the image of her in the kitchen burst through the mental wall he was trying to keep it contained behind. 

"Sore wa hendesu!!"

The loud shout from the TV knocked him out of his day dreaming causing Toshi to fumble with his rice bowl for a second. He was caught by a dumb game show host. Shooting a glare in it's direction for good measure he gave a heavy sigh and started eating the end of his meal. "These shows are so weird, I still can't keep up with them. But the talk shows are nice it helps me get a bit more of a feel for professional conversation." The little nurse was covered up to her shoulders in the kotatsu blanket, looking happy and content as she wanted for him to finish his food. This sort of set up was strange to Toshi. Often when you would invite someone to dinner it was a bit more of a occasion, treating that person like a respected guest with constant conversation and offerings of snacks and drinks. This was so casual and seemed more like something married couples would do every night. Sit around and watch T.V and eat their cheap dinners only mildly chatting. No, this was far better. "Damn it Toshi stop thinking like that! This is a common dinner gathering with a friend! This is surely how they do it in the states. Stop getting your weird hopes up" 

His eye cast down to the end of his rice. He had eaten far more than he expected himself too given how nervous he felt. He hand't felt 'full' in a long time. If that was indeed what he was feeling. Full, happy and relaxed. That was until she stretched and stood up from her spot. Her work skirt getting caught from her odd position and holding just a bit too high up her milky thigh giving him a beautiful look of the creamy skin that was normally hidden from view. Blood dripped from between his teeth and he snapped his head away to sputter something she thankfully ignored this time around. 

"All done? I can start to clean up if you want to finish watching. You can tell me more about that kid you're training yeah? You said he knew about my work back in the states?" 

Toshi gave a sort nod, trying to stack his bowls carefully to make the work easier for her. "Yes, thank you! The food was wonderful! I had no idea you were not only a brilliant nurse and hero but you really can cook too." The flush that painted her cheeks was a wonderful reward for his mild complement and Toshi made it a point to do that more often. Constantly if possible. The way she wiggled on the spot and twisted some hair around her fingers, trying to look anywhere but at him with her flustered expression was quiet possibly the cutest thing he had ever seen! Oh he would do it again for sure. Next chance he got. 

She scuttled off quickly with a muttered thank you followed by a string of excuses and reasons why she was in fact NOT a good cook at all, facts Toshi ignored as he turned the TV down to listen to her as she set about cleaning their dishes. "So this kid, Midoriya was it?" 

"Oh yes right. Young Midoriya shows great promise. That young man is set to do great things..." His voice trailed off as he looked at his own clenched fist. So frail and skinny now it was so important to All Might to train that boy as quickly as possible. His time was limited and he was growing weaker day by day. The thought clawed at the back of his mind and forced a slight twitch in his jaw. Every day was one day less and soon he would have to live like this. A normal, weaker than average citizen who couldn't save people. Couldn't be the symbol he spent his whole life trying to be. Was this really all he had left in the coming days? Once Midoriya was ready and the torch was passed what would he even do with himself? A washed up old has-been hero who could hardly take care of himself. Hell he was here pressing the new nurse just because of a little pain in his side. Was this really what he had become? 

A small plastic object was thrust into his view causing Toshi to perk up and snap his head towards her and what ever she was wiggling in his face. That sweet smile greeting him as it always did, her hair let down now that all the work and dinner was done but she kept on that cute little apron and he felt his heart swell from gloom to joy. Was it her quirk? Could she radiate some type of joy through close contact? How quickly she was able to rip him out of his self loathing and into a peaceful quiet. "You can't have sweets normally right? I picked up these flavors honey sticks just in case." One small stick hung between her lips as she blinked down at him. "Non-processed should be better right?" 

He gave a soft nod and brushed his fingers against her's again as he took her offering. He thought he caught her little tremble at the contact but brushed it off as a chill from the sudden unexpected feeling of his colder boney fingers against her far warmer....far softer ones. She took the time to think about his needs and cater to them so diligently he was starting to feel like some unnecessary burden who selfishly pushed himself into her life, and for what? Just so he could get all warm and fuzzy seeing her smile? He must not have been hiding his own personal disdain well enough as that same soft hand he brushed seconds ago came down sharply on the top of his head. "H-hey! What-" "You keep getting this look on your face. I don't like it so cut it out." She was so blunt. That dead stare she gave telling him this was not up for debate. "A-ah...sorry I didn't notice I was making one. Didn't mean to upset you or-gah HEY!" Another swift chop and now his head was really starting to hurt. 

"A quit with the apologizing alright. We're friends arn't we? If something on your mind you should say it don't sit there and sulk. That's what friends do for each other." The sudden finger thrust in his face had him lean back and staring crossed at her hand. "Besides what good am I as not only your friend but the new up and coming nurse at the great UA high if I can't even mend the spirit and heart of a fellow employee! I'll be an absolute failure! I'll never be able to show my face to grandma again she'll scold me for sure!" Her speech was so dramatic and heartfelt Toshi couldn't stop the slight twitch of his lips that broke quickly out into a smile. Sitting forward he leaned on his elbows and let his head hang. "Cut right to the point don't you kid-" He chose to ignore the delighted look on her face at the return of his nickname but only just. "And you're pretty good at picking up on others emotions, that's a good quality to have in a school nurse. Better yet one at UA. Those kids are the future hero's, they carry a lot of weight on their young shoulders and I bet a lot of them will need all the emotional help they can get as well as physical. I have no doubt you'll be a great asset to the school from this point on." He had meant it to be some kind of compliment. Trying to match her emotional speed in this conversation but the look on her face now told him he fell short. She was scowling? 

After a few seconds of silence between them he moved and rubbed the back of his neck nervously "...I say something wrong? You don't-" "You're trying to deflect the conversation Toshinori...." Shit he was caught. She was far better than he gave her credit for. The sudden feel of her hand wrapped around his resting one caused him to jump and nearly fall back from the table. "Come on. Somethings bothering you. You're normally all kinds of jumpy and odd but ever since the kitchen you've been so quiet." Her eyes looked so worried but a different worried that Toshi was only ever used to seeing on her. Worry that went deeper than his scar and title. Worry for Toshinori Yagi on a personal level he hadn't felt in years. But he couldn't just open up to her like this, burden her with more than necessary or more than he already had. Almost instinctively he turned his hand so he could grip hers. Any other circumstance and his heart would be fighting it's way up his throat but he was being tactful here. A common sense misdirection. "It was something Young Midoriya said today. He knew you from your hero work back in the states. You went by Paladin back then right?" She seemed to relax a bit "He...mentioned the way you used to fight and I just can't get it out of my head. What kind of hero agency sends someone like you out on the front lines to be a punching bag for the rest of the fully capable hero's out there? Let you get hurt in their place....it didn't sit right and ever since Young Midoriya brought it up again it's been eating away at me. Knowing you were hurt so badly so often...." His hand squeezed her's tight, tighter than perhaps he should have given the small wince she gave in response but she didn't pull away. Only returned the pressure and placed her other hand over his. 

"But it's the exact same thing they did to you." Toshi's head snapped up. What could that possibly mean?! He was the worlds greatest hero, no one could touch him in his prime. He wasn't some striking dummy set out on the streets to take hits he was saving people. "That sounds dumb let me explain. Here in Japan the only reason things are the way they are now is because of you. Sure all the other heros take care of minor crimes that pop up from time to time but you are the whole reason this society works the way it does. You take punches every single day in all different sorts of ways to keep people safe and thriving. No one stops to ask if you're okay, no one gives you a break or time off. For the past twenty years you have been the symbol the world needed you to be....but you were just an object of hope to cling to. A punching back for the worlds problems day in and day out but you did it with a smile. You never asked for anything in return and used your powers to help everyone else around you regardless of the sacrifices you had to make to do it." His side twitched slightly, as if affirming her words. "And you wanted to do it. Use that power in any way you could. Even now the only thing your mind is screaming is for you to help me, even if I don't really need saving. You view it as in injustice that you need to right. Our views on it may be different but I wanted to us my power to help people just like you. Every single use of it needed to go to that cause because otherwise what good is it to just let it sit there and do nothing? If I'm not helping someone with my quirk, even if that help is buying time for the right hero to do the job then what point is there to having it at all? Besides the best look on a villains face is the one they get when their punches just don't work! 

Toshi...I need you to understand how normal heros really think. Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like if I was there to take that hit for you....if someone could protect you for once rather than you always having to shelter us. I don't want to only rely on the symbol of peace, I want him to rely on me now! Even if it's just making him food and listening to his problems."

She was so passionate and god damn it was she smart. Ripped that morality right out from under him. He desperately wanted to save someone who didn't need to be saved, from a path they both walked. And she wanted more than anything now to be his hero. Putting herself out there for him here and now made his heart swell. 

Her hands were shaking slightly and he worried more than anything that this wasn't the whole picture but he wasn't going to push her. Not now. "While I might not have your power I needed to do this for the people I cared about. Without me so many others would have gotten hurt and many could have died. I can come back from those hits....they can't. Even if it's minor...even if it's scary how can I call myself a hero if I don't do everything I can to help?" She grinned up at him, that shining in her eyes was so hopeful and bright that he found himself starting slack jawed at her for a moment. "How else can I Go Beyond?!" 

This was the moment in every sappy romance movie he had ever seen where the hero wrapped his arms around the girl and kissed her until she was out of breath. Held her like he would never let go and showered her with love and adoration. But Toshi was stuck to his seat. Only able to hold her hands and smile right back at her. "You keep on surprising me kid. But you know, I'll never stop worrying about you. It's kinda my job. Even if I'm like this I don't really know any other way to be." 

The small laugh that pulled from her warmed his heart but it chilled just as quickly when she let his hands slip from hers to stand. "That's my line you dork. I'm the school nurse after all." As she passed him she let her fingers run over his wild hair and he leaned into the touch like it was second nature and watched her move into the kitchen. Damn it this wasn't good. His heart was thudding so hard he could feel it through his chest. In a few short minuets she had cemented herself as the most kind, beautiful and intelligent woman he had ever met. And cutest, he added as she stumbled out with a few more honey stick and a goofy grin chatting about something else she saw on TV to break the tension and lighten the mood. It was all white noise to him right now. She wasn't his friend. This wasn't a normal relationship with a colleague. This wasn't how he acted with Aizawa, Kayama or Yamada. Hell not even Dave. He couldn't remember a time where he just wanted to be near someone so desperately it hurt. 

Time came at last, and to Toshi dismay, that he had to head home. He wanted her to make a fuss and demand he spend the night, not that his nerves would allow him to do anything but stare awkwardly at the ceiling all night long let alone make any sort of romantic move. No, he would first try and talk to her without having a heart attack. Baby steps. She did whine a bit, rolling back from under the blanket and pouting when he insisted on catching the last train home. It was rather late. "I'll see you at UA tomorrow anyway. We need to go over plans for the entrance exam next week so don't look so down alright?" He wouldn't admit he liked that she looked so bummed out. Made his heart do a little flip that she wanted to spend as much time with him as he did her. That was a good start, knowing she wasn't forcing herself to stand him. 

"Yeah yeah....Grandma reminded me like six times today. I have alarms set I won't oversleep this time." They both chuckled as he slipped his shoes on and stood in the doorway. "H-hey uh...if you wanna get up a bit earlier we can grab some coffee on the way to work..." 

She looked at him with those wide eyes and gave a tilt of her head "Hm? You wanna go to work together?" Toshi stepped back and waved his hands frantically "Y-yeah I mean if you wanted! Only if that's not too weird! I figured you liked coffee given all the mugs you have around the kitchen....it's fine if you want to sleep in I understand don't push yourself." Geez what a stupid idea. This was the second time he asked to see her outside of work and he felt like a total creep. "I would love that." You're nearly fifty years old Toshinori this is unacceptable behavior, you should be ashamed of yourself. Pushing a young girl like this to constantly meet up, someones gonna call the police. "Just text me when you wanna meet up and I'll reset my alarms." Then again it's just coffee....it's not like you asked her out on a date. Was this a date back in the states...not like I dated there either but maybe it is. "Hey Toshi." Way to blow it, first the kitchen now this- a rough jab to his forehead had him fall back against the apartments railing. "You gotta work on your inner turmoil. I would love to get coffee tomorrow morning. Just text me when you want to meet up okay?" He was stuck standing dumbfounded, holding his foehead all slack jawed and flustered. "Y-yeah? Yeah...alright I'll text you." He muttered watching as she grinned behind the closing door until it clicked shut. Yelling out a 'Go home Toshi!' as she sensed he was still standing like an idiot on the balcony. It took him a few more seconds to right himself and step away from her door with one more glance at the apartment that belonged to his crush. He could say that now, be honest with himself, no matter how red in the face it made him as he nearly ran down the steps as if that would distance him from the utter embarrassment. 

As Toshi sat on the nearly empty train he found himself staring down at his phone. He wanted to wait at least a bit to text her not wanting to come off any more desperate than he already felt. While he killed time he tapped in her hero name in the search bar. He was surprises to find more than a fair share of hits everything from interviews to caught footage of fights. With a shaking finger he clicked on the first one listed. 'Paladin vs Iron Fist' at least her name was kinda cleaver. But what ever mild enjoyment he got from her hero name was quickly sucked out of him as he watched his poor little nurse get bashed in by a massive man possibly his own size. Not only that but he had; as his name implied fists of Iron that he had no issue using against the tiny girl.

She was quick on her feet at the very least. Dodging some of his slower telegraphed attacks, and he was sloppy and slow. A small time criminal who was used to just beating his way past opponents it seemed. Clearly not used to them getting back up. She took two heavy hits to the jaw and one uppercut that sent her flying upward leaving her open to a sudden massive barrage of punches to the stomach and chest. The force of it knocked her back into a wall that gave way with the power of it. Even he would be winded after something like that. The camera zoomed in as close as it could from their distance and Toshi was horrified to see the pool of blood slowly spreading from in impact site. Only her twitching legs visible behind and under the rubble. More blood that he was comfortable seeing coming from anyone. No one could get up from that...she must have been a mangled mess of bone. But slowly those feet moved in and some of the broken building was pushed away as she climbed out. Wiping her jaw from the small dribble of blood that still lingered. She was otherwise fine. Scraped up and winded, glowing that faint green of her quirk but otherwise no worse for ware. She was even grinning as she righted herself and gave a little stretch. "Think you can even me out big guy? Never feels right to only have one side punched you know?" As if she suddenly noticed the camera she turned and gave a thumbs up, what an All Might move. "Don't try this at home kids! You might not get up so quick!" The villain was back on her in a second shoving her body back into the rubble with a horrible crack and the sound she made turned his insides in knots. 

So it did hurt....every hit she took hurt as if she were a normal human. Every broken bone, every rip or scrape she could feel it all. And this villain was beating her into the ground with no mercy! His hands were shaking, gripping his phone so tightly he saw the screen suddenly crack and snapped him from the sudden rush of boiling anger that threatened to spill over. His phone still worked just fine he noted as he stared at his grim reflection in it's damaged surface. The hero's had figured out a plan by that point and someone was pulling him off her as he switched his phone off. She did that every single day with a smile on her face. Just like All Might. And people adored her for it if the comments and commentary were anything to go by. The person filming even said they didn't feel worried as long as she was on the scene. That did nothing for that burning hate he felt in the pit of his stomach. His hand clutched over his mouth as he sat in silence for the rest of the ride. 

Never again. No one would ever hurt her again. 

[sorrelchestnut]

from the discard pile: Geralt, Emhyr, Yennefer

This was from what was supposed to be a long plotty story called “Strange Bedfellows,” which I finally admitted I’m not ever actually going to do anything with.  So instead here’s the emotional core I actually cared enough to write, which is essentially the follow-up to Geralt and Emhyr’s conversation at Stygga, which the game kinda... skimmed over.  The context, as much as it needs any, is that they’re in Nilfgaard for Ciri’s wedding, and in the previous scene Geralt and Yennefer saved Emhyr from an assassin at a banquet.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I'm sure I won't be able to stop you," Emhyr said, very dry.

Geralt briefly considered whether or bringing this up while Emhyr was trapped in bed was entirely fair.  Then he decided he didn't give a shit, and asked anyway.  "Why did you change your mind, back at Stygga?"

Emhyr was silent for a long time.  So long, that Geralt gave up on looking politely out of the window and twisted around to face him, curious what emotion had caught hold of his tongue.  Whatever it was, it wasn't visible, not even to Geralt's heightened vision.  His face was pale, but that was just as likely to be the blood loss; his jaw was set, but that could be anything from lingering pain to irritation at Geralt's effrontery.  Geralt was pretty good at reading people, after all these years, but he'd never been able to read Emhyr worth a damn.

"I suppose you'd like me to say that it was your blandishments that swayed me," Emhyr said, after a time.

Geralt snorted.  Figures he'd try a run-around.  "What I'd like is for you to tell me the truth."

"The truth is complicated, witcher.  Surely you've learned that much, if nothing else."

"I learned it years before the crown first touched your father's head," Geralt said evenly.  "That doesn't mean I don't have a right to ask for it."

"No, I suppose not," Emhyr said, glancing wryly at his leg.  "Very well then, if truth you would have of me, then truth you shall receive.  Your speech was not without impact; I won't deny you that.  'If the world is to be saved like that, it would be better for it to perish.'  Yes, I remember the words exactly," he added, to Geralt's no-doubt-surprised expression.  "There is very little I have forgotten about that day, our conversation least of all.  But that wasn't what changed my mind."

"Yennefer," Geralt said softly.  He'd suspected as much for years, but it was Emhyr's very unwillingness to say it aloud that confirmed his pet theory.  "It was Yennefer."

Emhyr's jaw worked, in temper or self-loathing Geralt couldn't tell, but one thing he'd never been was a coward, and after a moment he nodded.  "Yes."

Emhyr wasn't the only one who remembered that day.  Geralt could still hear Yennefer's words as if she spoke right into his ear.  Please, as far as possible, don't harm my daughter.  I wouldn't want to die with the thought that she's crying.

"You couldn't bring yourself to hurt Ciri," Geralt said.  "Could you?  Not even for the fate of the world.  No matter what you said."

"No," Emhyr said.  His voice was harsh.  "I knew it when I saw her, I think, but your lady's words were nonetheless… impactful, on that front.  Perhaps I would have understood sooner, had I thought there was a limit to my barbarity.  For I am of course a monster, far worse than any you were raised to slay, but even I…  I note you show no signs of leaping to convince me otherwise," he added, with something not unlike amusement.

"What, you want me to lie to you now?  You know what you are.  What you've done."

Emhyr nodded far more readily.  "Oh, yes.  And whatever you think me capable of, witcher, I can assure you I've done far worse.  And yet in that moment I knew that this one thing, this final monstrosity in a long line of them, was the one I couldn't bring myself to accomplish."  He shrugged, as if the memory didn't pain him, but Geralt saw faint lines of strain at the corner of his mouth.  "So I didn't."

"Just like that."  Geralt knew he sounded skeptical, but he couldn't quite help himself.  "Fifteen years you spent, working towards this exact end, and then just- never mind?"

"What do you want me to say?"  Emhyr spread his hands.  "I couldn't bring myself to do it; therefore, it couldn't be done.  And if it couldn't be done, then the prophecy that demanded it must have been false."

"Vilgefortz," Geralt said, still bitter all these years later.  "You trusted a prophecy given to you by Vilgefortz."

Emhyr shrugged again.  "He had, until then, been a very useful ally."

"Because he wanted to kill Ciri," Geralt said.  "After impregnating her, aborting the fetus, and taking the blood, as many times as it took to drain her power.  He wanted to make himself into a living god.  That was who you trusted?"

"I don't trust anyone," Emhyr said.  "And he was not the only one to espouse that particular interpretation of Ithlinne's Prophecy.  It was only after Cirilla's disappearance that I was able to lay hands on an older version of the text, one uncorrupted by imperfect translations.  Had I located it earlier, things might have been different."

"Yeah," Geralt said tiredly.  He knew that feeling, all too well.  "Gotta admit: really fucking wish you had."

"On that point, witcher, you and I can readily agree."

Geralt sighed and looked out the window again.  Why is it always towers, he wondered.  Thanedd, Stygga, Tor Gvalch'ca - even Tesham Mutna was a tower, once upon a time.  Just once, it'd be nice to have my world turned upside down in a nice sunny meadow or maybe an orchard.  Just for a change of pace.

Then again, Ciri had left him by the side of the road, and that had been the worst day of his life.  Maybe he should be careful what he wished for.

"May I ask you a question in return?"

Geralt turned back with a quirk of his eyebrow.  "It's not like you to ask permission."

Emhyr gestured wryly to his leg.  "The alternative seems discourteous, considering."

"Not like you to care about that, either."  But it turned out his curiosity was stronger than his desire to get the last word, so he flicked his fingers in absent permission.  "Sure.  Hit me."

And because Emhyr had never held back in his life, he didn't hesitate but immediately said, "Do you ever regret saving me, when Calanthe bid you to strike?"

"No."

Emhyr's pause was fractional, but it was long enough to know that Geralt had actually surprised him.  "That was definite."

"What's the point of regretting something when neither of us really had a choice?  All the shit you did, everything that happened because of that - it happened because it needed to happen.  Don't fool yourself, Duny.  It was all destiny.  Not just the parts that made it into the ballads."

A muscle in Emhyr's jaw flexed - yeah, didn't like that, did he, the thought he wasn't the supreme agent in his own life.  Good.  Let him get a taste of what the rest of the mortals felt.

"And is that the only reason?"

This time Geralt was the one holding silent, struggling with his response.  Not because he didn't know the answer, but because he did, and it might not be the one Emhyr wanted to hear.  And while he liked to tweak the tiger's tail as much as the next guy - okay, way more than the next guy - he had a feeling that if he got this one wrong, he was losing a lot more than just the emperor's forbearance of his usual disrespect.

Well, no other way but through, as Vesemir liked to say.  It wasn't like Emhyr wouldn't be able to tell if he was lying even if he did want to try it.  Might as well be honest and hope for the best.

"Ciri," he said.  "Without you, there never would've been her."

"Not, strictly speaking, true," Emhyr countered swiftly.  Not an unexpected answer, then.  Which wasn't the same as welcome.  "Pavetta was already pregnant.  That was, after all, the nature of your claim."

Geralt made a gesture, wiping away that argument.  "She would have existed, true.  Who knows, maybe she still would have ended up on your throne.  But she wouldn't have been Ciri.  She wouldn't have been the Witcher Girl."

"Are you so certain?" Emhyr inquired.  "As you say, destiny is a powerful thing.  And a river, denied its intended course, will jump its banks and carve a new one through unweathered ground.  How can you be so sure she would not have been promised to you regardless?"

Geralt snorted.  "You think Calanthe would have opened herself up to the Law of Surprise?  After watching you make a claim on her daughter?  No.  And I wouldn't have thought to ask, either - only did because you kept insisting, and that only happens for one reason."

Emhyr made a thoughtful little mhm noise.  "And so, for your intervention, destiny bound us together in that moment in time, so that it might create a savior of a very particular shape.  A witcher girl, a learned sorceress, a killer with a will of steel.  The child of the Elder Blood that would face the White Frost and save us all from extinction."

"Well, that's what the prophecy said, anyway," Geralt said.  "I never gave a shit about any of that.  All I cared about is that for a little while, she was mine."

After a long moment, Emhyr said, "You must hate me very  much."

Geralt didn't pretend to misunderstand.  It would have been easy: he had a lot of reasons to hate the Emperor of Nilfgaard, and every single one of them was earned.  But Geralt had never been one to take the easy path, so instead he said, "You know, back then - before Thanedd, I mean - everyone from Triss to fucking Djikstra was always so eager to tell me that I couldn't hold onto her, that she didn't belong with me.  Even Vesemir.  Even Yen.  But you know what's funny?  I never thought otherwise.  Crossed half the world to find her, but it wasn't because I thought I could keep her.  Only ever wanted to keep her safe."

"Interesting," Emhyr murmured.  His gaze lingered on Geralt's face, missing nothing.  "I was certain you blamed me for taking her away."

"Guess you had to be wrong about something," Geralt muttered, and rubbed a hand over his face.  "No, I always knew she was meant for bigger things.  Okay, so I didn't guess this," and he waved a hand toward the window, meaning the city, the realm, the bloody continent now held in the palm of Ciri's sword-calloused hand.  "But something more than slaughtering drowners at ten crowns a head.  And even if I did - what'd be the point blaming you, anyway?  It was Ciri's choice.  Think I'm going to be mad at her for trying to make the world better?"

"Interesting," Emhyr said again.  It was impossible to read his expression, but that didn't stop Geralt from trying.  "I underestimated you, it seems.  Again.  Not a condition I suffer often, and yet it's become very nearly a habit where you are concerned."

Geralt snorted.  "I wouldn't worry about it.  Doubt you'll have much opportunity in the future."

"Do you think?"  The effort of the conversation seemed to be tiring Emhyr out; even his hawkish gaze was beginning to blur.  "And yet here you sit, witcher.  And here I lie, when by all rights I should be dead.  I'm not so certain that we are done, you and I.  Destiny might have something in store for us yet."

                                         * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Emhyr fell asleep soon after, which Geralt figured was just as well; he needed a little silence in his head.  He didn't want to think about what Emhyr had said.  What was the point?  If he was right, fate would reveal her fickle hand sooner or later; nothing mere mortals could do to hurry it along.  You could go mad, trying to live your life like that.  And in the end it didn't matter - you'd do the right thing, or you wouldn't, and you could never know which was which, not really.  The best you could do was make the choices in front of you, and try not to let yourself regret.

It was about two hours later when he heard someone approaching down the hall.  Geralt roused himself from his light meditation and tracked the footsteps - one set of heels clicking against the marble and one set of soft leather slippers, designed to be nearly inaudible to human ears - until they reached the door.  It opened silently on oiled hinges, followed by the whisper of fabric and displaced air from a bow.

"Thank you, Mererid.  That will be all."

"Of course, my lady."

The door closed once more.  Footsteps tapped closer - quieter now, making an effort.  A gloved hand rested on his shoulder, delicate yet firm.  Geralt inhaled the familiar smell of lilac and gooseberries and relaxed for the first time since he saw light flash on the assassin's blade.

"How is he?" Yennefer asked, keeping her voice low.

"Better.  Sleeping.  He was up for a while earlier, though.  Didn't seem addled-"  Massive understatement.  "Just tired.  Probably good as new in a day or two."  He picked up her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, right where her cuff and glove left a gap.  The steady throb of her pulse under his lips leeched away a little more of the day's poison.  "What about Ciri?"

"Cloistered with Rousarde, Vattier, and about a dozen imperial accountants.  One of Vattier's men managed to track down the account used to make the payment, and they're currently following the thread through a series of shell companies at Central Banking.  Rousarde assures me it's only a matter of time until they find the source of the money."

"Must have a lot of it, whoever they are," Geralt said.  "Killing an emperor can't be cheap."

"If you combined all of the contracts you've ever completed in the entirety of your years on the Path, you might approach the payment that young man would have enjoyed had you not intervened."  Yen laid her palm against his cheek, stroking the hinge of his jaw with her fingers. Her gaze was very warm, though her glove was as cool as ever.  "You did very well, you know.  I didn't get a chance to say as much earlier."

"Wasn't the only one.  Potions wouldn't have done shit if you hadn't held him steady long enough for them to work."

Yen inclined her head in acknowledgement.  "Consider the practice I've had in that arena.  I could almost thank Avall'ach for getting himself cursed."

"Wouldn't if I were you."

"No, probably not the done thing."

They shared an exhausted smile, and then Geralt decided she was still entirely too far away and tugged at her wrist.  She gave him an unamused look, but acceded to his silent plea and stepped over the footstool to climb gracefully into his lap.  He held still, allowing her to arrange their limbs to her satisfaction, and then buried his nose into the silken fall of her hair and inhaled gratefully.

"You should get some sleep," she said, after a few minutes had passed.

Geralt didn't bother responding.

 "I know you must be very tired."

"Ciri said guard," Geralt said, and left the remainder unspoken, too obvious to need words: so I guard.

Yen's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.  "You're going to sit here until Ciri comes to tell you otherwise, aren't you?"

Geralt didn't bother responding to that either.

Her head shifted on his shoulder, and he knew she'd turned to regard the bed, or more precisely its occupant.  "He looks quite peaceful like that, doesn't he?"

Geralt only barely held back a snort, which was sure to wake Emhyr as their quiet voices hadn't.  Not a lot of people laughing around the emperor.  "It's a trick."

"Yes, of course, but it's quite a good one."  She was playing with laces of his doublet, winding the string about her fingers and then unwinding it the opposite direction.  It made a tiny shushing noise, a fractional rasp of fabric against skin, that was oddly soothing. "He was awake earlier, you said?"

"Yeah."

"Did he say anything?"

"Oh, yeah."

He felt her frown against the side of his throat.  "It went that poorly, then?"

"Yeah- well, no.  I guess.  Hard to tell, with him."

"Of that, I am entirely too aware."  Shh, shh, went the laces.  Yen rubbed her thumb thoughtfully against the little v of skin below his collarbone.  Nilfgaardian fashion favored closed collars, but he'd had a rough day.  "What does he want from us, Geralt?  Really."

"You mean, besides saving his life?"

She let out an impatient huff of air.  "Yes, aside from that."

"I think... I think he wants absolution," Geralt said slowly, puzzling it out even as he spoke.  "Or- he wants to want absolution, and he's hoping like hell that's close enough to count."

"But why us?" Yen said, with a plaintive cast Geralt heard only very rarely.  "Surely Ciri-"

Geralt sighed.  "He loves Ciri more than any other person alive," he told her, too tired to be anything but honest.  "And I'm pretty sure he knows he doesn't deserve her."  He tucked her head a little more firmly under his chin.  "Would you be honest, if you were in his shoes?"

There was a brief, sullen silence.  "No," Yen said, finally.  "I don't even like it with you."

That was at least halfway a lie, and anyway, Yen didn't think she deserved him, either.  (She didn't think he knew that, but he wasn't an idiot.  He totally knew.)  Before, he hadn't been in any kind of hurry to disillusion her in case she noticed it went the other way around; these days, he was finally starting to figure out that they just about deserved each other.  Yen wasn't there yet, but that was okay.  They had time.

[kairi-chan]

Know Your Name - BoruSara

Genre: Romance / Humor

Rating: T

Sound Track: I Don’t Even Know Your Name by Shawn Mendes

A/N: Pop Star / Reporter AU for BoruSara, written for BoruSaraWeek19 D4 - Music 

---

The crowd outside of The Leaf Hotel was getting thicker by the second, the low murmuring started to turn into an uproar when a fan found that the much-anticipated star was approaching.

“They pulled up for take-out!” She screamed, holding up her phone. “He’s having an Extra Spicy Thunder Burger!”

“Oh my god!” Another fan screamed. “That’s just right around the corner!”

High pitched screaming filled the street, photographers prepared their cameras, and the security took their positions by the pathway.

Sarada took a deep breath and sighed. The frown on her face was starting to look permanent. Her disdain for this crowd, Star and the whole situation just grew more and more by the second. The screaming was starting to give her a headache. Sarada massaged her temples.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Inojin grinned. “You get to see this pop star up close, get a pass,” he lifted his ID, and then wiggled his eyebrows at her, “And The Leaf Hotel serves the best food. I’m seriously just here for the food.”

She took a deep breath and gave him a look. “I’m not a feature writer!” She whined. “I’m supposed to be covering topics that will get me closer to that front page spread!” She threw her hands up in the air, and for a moment, Inojin felt concerned for the recorder in her hand. “Covering things like the crashing economy, dirty politics and—“

“—all the boring stuff,” Inojin snickered. “I know you’re smart and all, Sarada. But this could be front spread worthy, too.” He lifted his camera and nudged his head towards the crowd behind them. “Boruto Uzumaki is half French, half Japanese, and where did he make it big? America. Of all places.”

She rolled her eyes. The singer had blond hair and blue eyes. His style was so mainstream he could fit anywhere they sold overpriced coffee, avocado toasts, and morning cocktails. He sang about love, living young, wild and free. It was so typical pop. Sarada loathed the idea of having to listen to his songs, read articles about him, and follow his account a month before to prepare for this interview.

She loathed the idea until she actually started listening to his songs and liked them. Not like she would ever admit that out loud. Her editor would never live it down. His Instagram was also… fun to follow. He always posted silly stories, and his feed photos were always on point. He knew when to look goofy, natural, and hot.

“Oh come on, don’t pretend you’re not in the slightest bit interested.”

“I am not.” Sarada pushed her glasses back up her face and straightened her blazer and pencil skirt. “Let’s just take his photo while he enters and we do this interview, eat and we’re out of here.”

Inojin shrugged. “As long as we eat, I’m good. I’m gonna send Chubs photos to make her jealous.”

Sarada rolled her eyes and then laughed. “Okay, okay.”

The crowd started to scream and some of them pushed against the reporters at the back. The two of them were thankful that working for The Konoha Times gave them media passes and special treatment.

A shiny black limo pulled up, and the crowd went wild. Security had to push them back, and all the photographers started clicking away, filling the path with bright flashing lights. Inojin pushed a little forward to take a better photo, but Sarada hung back. She didn’t even bother to record any of the audio of things he might say as he greeted his fans.

Two bodyguards and a man with brown hair and a blue scarf came out first—his manager, Konohamaru—and then, the star of the night, Boruto Uzumaki, climbed out of the car. The crowd was hysterical. Sarada couldn’t help but roll her eyes for the nth time that night. She liked his music, and yeah, he was attractive, but she would be caught dead losing her cool like that.

Boruto looked a little different up close. He looked taller and leaner. His vibe was easy, and his grin looked even brighter if that was possible. He waved at the crowd and said a few words. Sarada couldn’t help but snicker when he switched from French to Japanese and then ended in English. His manager whispered something to him, and then he continued in English, with a tiny accent she couldn’t put her finger on.

It reminded her why her editor chose her for this assignment, because she could speak all of the languages he could, and was notorious for switching languages mid-sentence. It was a quirk that people initially thought was a PR stunt to make him look cute, but the more interviews he entertained, the more believable it seemed. He blew a kiss to the crowd and Sarada could have sworn someone behind her fainted.

She looked at the floor and sighed as she adjusted her glasses. When she looked back up, she and Boruto made eye contact for a split second but she could have sworn he was looking at her far longer than that. He wasn’t smiling anymore, instead, his lips were slightly parted, big blue eyes wide. Her face remained passive and then she tore her attention away from him to Inojin, who was telling her that they had to move to get into the Hotel.

Boruto was being pulled by his manager into the hotel as well. A bunch of other reporters scurried after Boruto and his team. Although Sarada and Inojin tried to make haste, the golden doors were slammed shut in their faces.

.

.

.

“I’m telling you,” Sarada held up her PRESS ID and gritted her teeth, “the two of us are part of the reporters cleared for an interview with Boruto and his team!”

The big security guard crossed his arms across his chest tightly, flexing his muscles. “And I’m telling you, you’re not on the list.”

“That’s impossible!” Inojin retorted. “We’re from The Konoha Times. We’re always on the list of press.”

“Tough luck, buddy. Not this time.”

Inojin continued to argue with the guard, and Sarada was on the phone, desperately trying to reach her editor, but to no avail. It was already past nine in the evening, and the group interview was over half an hour ago. They were all just probably having dinner already. This was horrible. They wouldn’t be granted passes if they weren’t cleared for an interview. The other rival publishers were there, and this article was needed by tomorrow morning.

Sarada needed to find a way to get in. She took a few steps away from the door to clear her head. Inojin’s screaming was starting to remind her of her Mama and Auntie Ino’s arguments. A few more steps and she stopped, as the soft scent of cigarette smoke floated to her nostrils. There was only one person she knew who would rather take a smoke than indulge in pleasantries over dinner. She ran to the corner and spotted him.

“Shikadai!” She grinned, so genuinely happy to see him.

He pulled the stick out of his mouth and blew the smoke away from her direction. He smiled lazily and nodded his head. “Ah, Sarada. I was starting to wonder when the Times would appear. But I was expecting Chocho.”

Sarada laughed. “Yeah, But she’s on leave so you’re stuck with me.”

He nodded his head and lowered his cigarette. “Right. And what’re you, miss Journalist, doing at this alleyway and not inside? Too flashy for you?”

“Ha-ha.” Sarada placed her hands on her hips. “It’s a long story but I need a favor.”

“Ooh,” Shikadai smirked. “Those are expensive.”

“I’ll give you a tip for the next dirty politician I expose,” she bargained.

“That’s pretty solid.” He laughed. “I was just gonna ask for a leak, but okay, sure. Let’s hear it.” He took a long drag and waited.

“I need you to get me and Inojin in there, as well as an interview.”

Shikadai choked and coughed the smoke out. “Excuse me, what? Why do you expect so much from me?”

“Someone forgot to include us in the list. I need an interview with Boruto before the night ends.” She placed her hands together and pleaded. “Please!”

He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can get you in, but I don’t think I can get you a private interview. I didn’t even get to ask a question.”

Her dark eyes went wide. She never backed down from a challenge. She had gotten interviews from senators, economists, even criminals. Surely getting one with a pop star wasn’t going to be so difficult.

He raised his hands up in surrender, “listen, I’m telling the truth. I can get you in the hotel, but I don’t even know if you can get close to him, let alone his room number. Security is tight.”

She pressed her lips together. “Try me.”

.

.

.

Boruto was showed to his room, one of the best suites in the house. His manager had the room on the floor below, and so did the rest of the team. He didn’t mind sharing, but Konohamaru always insisted he got his own so he could rest up properly. The last time he shared a room with his team, chaos ensued and they didn’t sleep until the sun came up, causing Boruto to look exhausted as hell the following day. Luckily it was a small event.

He looked around and took it all in. “Just another empty hotel room,” he whispered and walked over to the king-sized bed. He let himself fall on the mattress and sink in. Boruto closed his eyes and recalled the questions.

“What’s your next album going to be about?”

“Is it true you’re dating? Is it a boy?”

“Favorite song to play?”

“Who do you want to work with next?”

They were all the same typical questions. Shallow, about his dating life, or his sexuality. He rolled his eyes. When was he going to have a challenge for once? His manager and PR team trained him well, and how to dodge questions. His natural wit and charm had also gotten him out of a pickle on more than one occasion.

“There wasn’t even anyone hot,” he muttered. Some tabloids liked to send attractive looking reporters to try to distract him, but none of them ever worked. They just… weren’t his type. He could have any girl he wanted and has had a few encounters—under wraps, of course. Although not a secret enough for the world to think he was a virgin. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It just didn’t fit his image. He closed his eyes.

And then, a pair of dark eyes flashed across his memory, making him sit up, eyes flying open. “There was one!” He exclaimed to no one. He bit his lower lip, trying to remember. She was in the crowd, outside the hotel. There was a press ID around her neck, but he didn’t quite catch for which publication. She wore a pair of red glasses and she looked so… bored.

Boruto pouted. No one ever looked bored in his presence. She didn’t even bother to record anything…

He closed his eyes again, trying to recall if she was there during the interview and dinner. He couldn’t remember. After a while, he gave up and simply concluded, “Then I guess she wasn’t there…” he muttered. No way he wouldn’t notice her in that crowd. Plus, there weren’t many of them, anyway.

Why wouldn’t she be there, though? He shook his head and stood up. Why was he getting so worked up over a reporter? She wasn’t even there. Not even that pretty. Nope. She had long, black hair and wore a black pencil skirt and blazer, like those stiffs in his legal team. Or the dudes who do his banking for him.

Boruto took a deep breath and walked towards the shower, hoping that thoughts of the stiff reporter would wash away with the water.

.

.

.

It was easy enough for Shikadai to bring Sarada and Inojin in. All he needed to do was convince a waiter to help distract the guard long enough to sneak the two of them in. Shikadai gifted the waiter a coupon for a free issue of the next Rogue issue.

“Aww shit!” Inojin complained. “There’s no more food!”

Shikadai pitied the photographer, but he was getting worried about Sarada. She graduated in Journalism and was currently taking up law school. She part-timed in a local newspaper for a while and eventually got hired by the Konoha Times Magazine for her journalism work about a mayor’s corrupt business. It was dangerous, and she had taken on a number of threats for her work. Never did she looked bothered, or even showed hints of it. She was also a tough cookie herself… perhaps a little too tough. That look in her eyes… he knew that look and it scared him.

“Hey,” Sarada waved her hand in front of his face. “Since you’re spacing out, you better be thinking of a plan how to get me to his hotel room.”

Shikadai groaned. This woman was impossible. Was a tip really worth it? “Sarada, you’re being too troublesome. I got you in  since we’re uni buddies. But getting that hotel room number is just—“

“I’ll ghostwrite for you.”

His dark eyes went wide and Inojin instantly shut up. Was Shikadai hearing this right? “Come again?”

Sarada’s face seriously meant business. “I’ll ghostwrite for you.”

“Duuuude!” Inojin nearly dropped his camera.

“I can’t do that,” Shikadai shook his head and took a step back. Even if the offer was tempting, that was too good to be true. It would help him when things were too busy for him. “That’s—you care about getting your name out there!”

She shrugged. “I can type up a thousand words in the back of a cab on my way to work…” she paused and looked at him, an easy smile on her face. “Are you really going to pass this up?”

“But…” oh shit. It was too tempting. “Your writing style…”

“Is flexible.” Sarada grinned. “Just let me read three of your articles and I’m good. You can always check it before passing it in, you know?”

“Duuuuude!” Inojin was now shaking his shoulders. “Getting Sarada to offer something like that is—“ he threw his hands up in the air. “What are you waiting for? Aren’t you sleeping with one of the girls on Boruto’s band or something?”

Sarada’s eyebrows shot up and a knowing smile grew on her face. “Oh really? That sounds interesting.”

Shikadai screamed internally and glared daggers at Inojin. “You promised!”

“Whoops. It slipped?” Inojin snickered.

“Okay, so…” Sarada held up one finger. “I give you a tip,” she held up another, “I ghost write,” and held up another, “and we don’t speak about this girl in front of Chocho.”

Shikadai felt like a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped on his head. If Chocho were to find out— “DEAL.”

.

.

.

The sound of running water mixed with soft pop tunes echoed inside the bathroom. Boruto leaned his weight on his arm on the wall and bowed his head, letting the warm water from the shower pour down his head. Little streams made a path down his hair, nape, and back. Others made their way down the sides of his face and dropped down to his chin. This particular playlist usually put him in a good and sober mood, yet he couldn’t get her out of his head, feeling drunk on the thought of what her name might be.

She didn’t look American. Definitely Asian. Yet, she was a little taller. Maybe she was mixed, like him?

Boruto turned the knob off and leaned his forehead on the cool, tiled wall. Why was he getting so caught up in this? She was just a reporter. She looked bored in his presence. Big deal. She might have just been tired. Or judging from her stiff-looking outfit, she just felt out of place.

He took a towel and dried himself with it, starting with his face, hair, torso and then legs. Boruto looked around for the bathrobe, but before he could grab it, his doorbell rang.

Boruto lifted a brow. “Who the hell could that be?”

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.

.

Inojin was lagging behind. His legs were burning and his lungs were crying for more air. He held on to his camera with one hand, and to the handrail on the other. “Tell me… why… did we have to take the… service stairs?”

“Because—“ Shikadai grimaced and took a deep breath to steady himself. “This is the only way the cameras won’t see us until we approach Boruto’s room.”

“Who happens to be on the top floor!” Inojin cried.

“Stop your whining!” Sarada chided him, she also struggled to steady her breath. “Just a few more.”

“Why are you so bent on making this happen?” Shikadai raised his brow. “This isn’t even your article, is it?”

“It wasn’t,” Sarada responded and adjusted her glasses. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to half-ass it. Neither does it give me the license to slack off. I’m not going to get that front page unless I work hard.”

“Or is just fucking lucky.” Inojin rolled his eyes.

Sarada pursed her lips and held her tongue. She had other reasons for wanting to make this interview work. There was a betting pool going around the office who would be stuck in their current work and never make it big. To her surprise, she was in the pool. It hurt and outraged her. Chocho calmed her and explained it was because she always stuck to the same boring topics, and never ventured to try writing for other articles or covering other events.

“She’ll stagnate,” one colleague remarked. “People need to be flexible. Can’t have someone turning down assignments just because they don’t like the job.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the job, it’s just that she didn’t feel like she was the right person, with the right knowledge, to fulfill the job. What did she know about food blogging or makeup? Traveling and what to pack or look out for? She was studying law with a passion for economics. Her father was a big shot on Wall Street, her mother a successful surgeon. They each had their own passions and expertise, never bothering each other or even pretending to know better than the other in their field. But… Sarada’s colleagues did have a point. She needed to expand and show them that she can get out of her comfort zone and still excel.

“I’m going to make this interview the most talked about, hashtagged, trending shit in the world,” she swore to herself.

.

.

.

Boruto opened the door and what he saw astounded him, eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

The reporter he was just thinking of, now in a wrinkled blazer, sweat on her dark brow, and breathing heavily stood before him. She was holding up her ID for him to see and a smirk slowly grew on his face.

Boruto said her name, letting every syllable roll off his tongue, “Sarada Uchiha.”

She immediately closed her mouth and fought even harder to steady her breathing. Her dark eyes were wide upon hearing his voice. She cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s me.”

Serendipity was wonderful. He didn’t believe in destiny, but he knew this had to be it. Boruto just wanted to laugh but held it in by biting his lower lip.

“Would you please let me interview you?”

“Is that what you’re here for?” He couldn’t believe it. The girl he was thinking about was standing right at his door, and she wanted to interview him?

Sarada nodded. “Yes. May I come in? This won’t take long.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He stepped aside and she let herself in. He looked at her small figure standing inside his suite, still disbelieving the entire thing.

“Mr. Uzumaki, where would you—“

Boruto cringed. “You can call me Boruto.”

Sarada turned around to face him, eyes trailed down to his waist, before hastily looking away and pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Umm. Right, then. You can call me Sarada.”

Boruto looked at himself and realized he was still in a towel. He was about to spazz and go on a full apology for being in a towel, but that pink dust on her cheeks… is she… blushing?

All his embarrassment washed away and his smug smile was back. “Alright, Sarada.” God. He loved her name. The way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue. “It’s nice to know your name.”

He relished watching her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. This was surely going to be an interview he wouldn’t forget.

“Shall we?”

Sarada nodded.

With one flick of his hand, he closed the door behind him.

.

.

.

To be continued.

--- 

A/N: This was a WIP sitting in my drive for months. I decided it would be perfect to use for the prompt -- Music. I’ll be continuing it another chapter to wrap up! Soon, when I get more free time to write. ^^; 

Thank you for reading my fic, darling. If you like my stories, please check out my profile and check out the link to my masterpost. I also have links to my FFnet, Ao3, Twitter and Ko-Fi.

 Write on, darling.

[juliussneezerfics]

Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers: Chapter 5 - Home

After a decade away from his home, his dogs, and his brother, Germany finds himself going home at last.

Ao3

******

The rest of the decade passed by painfully slowly. He cycled between the three houses, his relationship with the three nations growing into what could only be described as a friendship. He came to appreciate the different characteristics of each nation, the different quirks. France had to sleep with the window open… and in the nude. England tossed salt over his shoulder if he spilled it. America never closed his doors all the way. Learning these intimate little details about each nation brought them closer than he would have ever thought possible. Even America treated him as a friend. Though he enjoyed their company, he was delighted when a car of Germany representatives whisked him away from France’s house to return home.

France turned his head as he heard the car come down the driveway.

Germany coughed up a lily petal, but that did nothing to dampen his spirits as he perked up.

France looked at Germany, a delighted smile on his face. “It’s time for you to go home.”

“Thank you for everything.” Germany said, reaching forward.

France shook his hand. “Thank you for keeping me company. I’ll be over there to annoy you soon enough, I imagine Prussia will be having me over again soon.”

“Shocking as it sounds, I actually look forward to it.” Germany gave him a close-mouthed smile.

France smiled back. “Get out of here.” 

Germany turned around and opened the door, descending the steps.

He finally arrived home, his excitement mounting as he opened the car door and walked down the sidewalk to his door. His walk sped into a fastwalk, which mounted into a jog. This turned into a full-out run as he found himself incapable of slowing down. He jerked open the door, dropping his bag on the floor. “Gilbert!”

There was a long period of silence.

“West?!”  The distant slapping of feet on hard wood echoed through the house, along with the scratching of dogs’ nails against the floor. His dogs were the first to arrive.

Germany kneeled to the floor, a smile growing on his face as he pet all his dogs as fast as his hands would allow. “How were you guys without me, huh? Are you glad I’m home?”

Blackie rolled onto his back in invitation.

Germany reached down obligingly and rubbed Blackie’s stomach. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up.

Prussia stood at the end of the hallway, his eyes wide and his face blank, mouth open. His face split into a wide smile. He barreled forward as Germany stood, capturing his little brother in a hug.

Germany wrapped his arms around his brother, grasping the back of Prussia’s uniform in his clenched fists.

The two stood there for a little bit longer before Prussia released Germany. He still maintained his wide open grin as he rested a hand on his shoulder. “You look like you could use a beer.”

Germany coughed into his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to be sorrowful as he smiled back at his brother. “I think I could.”

"Come on." Prussia looped his arm around his brother's shoulder. "We have a lot to catch up on."

Two months later, Germany was hunched over outdoors, his shovel lying forgotten on the dirt as he steadied himself against a tree. He coughed up several flower petals before his throat was completely blocked.

 “West!”

Germany cringed inwardly as he heard Prussia run toward him. He should have prepared himself for Prussia’s reaction to him choking on flowers after he came home. But since he got home, he was so busy spending time with his dogs and brother that it slipped his mind. Before Prussia could intervene, he began on the self-heimlich.

“Ludwig, wh- what should I do?”  Prussia stuttered, apparently at a loss for words.

Ludwig continued to pull his fist into his chest, sucking in a breath when the flower was finally coughed out. He continued to lean against the tree, chest heaving. “Nothing.”  Germany huffed. “Nothing you can do.”  There were several moments of silence. Germany caught his breath, peering up at his brother.

Prussia gaped at him with a usually smirking mouth. His eyebrows, usually arched high with mirth, were furrowed over his violet eyes with worry. “Ludwig…”  His voice was softer than usual. Heavy with sorrow and confusion. “Is this what you’ve been going through the past decade?”

“Not necessarily. Usually it’s just petals.” He let his weight drop onto the grass, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree as he continued to catch his breath.

Aster gingerly paced forward, gently nudging Germany’s face with his nose.

Germany lightly pushed away Aster’s snout, watching Prussia as he blankly processed what Germany was saying.

 “Okay.” Prussia said, nodding. “So we just… wait?”

Germany also nodded, despising every moment of this conversation.

Prussia huffed, clumsily dropping onto the ground next to him. He pulled Aster to him, scratching behind both his ears. He scrunched Aster’s face forward. While he usually would have laughed at all the wrinkles on the dog’s face, it appeared that he was unable to find humor in it. “I’m having Francis and Spain over this weekend. You could invite people over too, you know.”

 “No.”

“No?” Prussia asked, releasing Aster’s face as he turned to his brother.

Aster sneezed, then lumbered away to annoy Blackie.

 “Don’t want to.”

 “Lud, you have to have them over at some point. You’ve turned down invitations from Italy and Japan so many times… They’re wondering what’s going on.”

Germany furrowed his brow, staring ahead. He watched the season’s first spring bees buzz lazily from flower to flower and idly thought that he needed to mow. It was strange how such mundane thoughts could break their way into a conversation about tragedy. About ignored friendships. Indeed, Germany had received countless phone calls from both his friends. Letters. Invitations. Questions on how he was doing. He responded to letters curtly and with minimal words. The phone remained unanswered with the excuse that he was busy taking care of Prussia or doing yardwork. Excuses that were not entirely untrue, but certainly exaggerated. “Can I wait until the hanahaki passes at least? I’m scarcely able to hold a conversation.”

Prussia shook his head. “No, Lud-"

“Gilbert,”  Germany protested, facing him.

“Blame it on allergies. Cold. Hay fever. Whatever you have to say. The farther you put this off, the harder it will be for you to do it. Trust me, West.”  His tone was sober.

“I…”  Germany huffed, the sigh irritating his throat. He coughed into his elbow dryly, wincing as it stung his throat. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Perhaps that’s typical of me.”

Prussia looked ahead, smiling to himself. “I’d say that’s typical of anyone who goes a decade without seeing his friends. Cut yourself a break.”

Germany glanced over to his brother, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You first.”

Prussia looked back over, the familiar smirk back on his face. “You’re a real brat, you know that? Here I am, being an awesome older brother, and you’re sassing me.”

Germany didn’t realize how much he missed that impish grin. “Quit stalling. Those flowerbeds won’t weed themselves.”

Prussia huffed, pushing himself off the ground. “Yeah, yeah.”  He turned, pushing his fine, white hair away from his forehead. “You’ll figure out what to say, West. It’s what you do. You are my brother, after all. Must be my awesome genetics at work.”

Germany looked up at Prussia. His older brother. Germany knew that from the outside, it looked like the roles were reversed between the two. Like Germany acted like the older brother, his stern voice seeming to overpower Prussia’s scratchy, boisterous rasp. But Germany knew that Prussia was still the older brother. Though he would loathe to admit it aloud, he truly looked up to Prussia. “If saying that makes you feel better.”

 “Now get off your ass and help me out. I bet I have something tucked away in the cupboards for us to eat until we can go grab more food later.”

Germany stood, straightening his shoulders and standing at his full height. “Let’s go.”

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[elusetta]

Dedicated to my loving ex-mother @sharky-broshaw and my beloved musketeers.

Read here on ao3.

My Leliana:

Life at Vigil’s Keep has been demanding, and I am loath to deliver to you the news that I cannot yet return home. There are matters here that still require me. If you could, I would beg you to come here, to cut short our separation, but I will understand if you cannot; this place is dreary as the Fade, and the sun never seems to shine. It is hardly the place for you, my love.

But it is not all bad. The rain is one thing; my companions are another. I am happy to report to you that here, I have found companionship I did not think possible outside of those I had known during the Blight. Sigrun, although distrustful of my actions with the Architect, is the most delightful dwarf I have known since Dagna; I think you would get along with her. Velanna- who I am sure you will remember from the letters I sent you during my time in the Wending Wood- has grown on me, and I believe I have grown on her, even if she would never admit it until the day she dies, shem that I am. Anders is quite like Alistair, full of jokes and lively banter. As for Justice, the spirit who possessed a corpse, I do not quite know what I can say of him- of it?- but, regardless, he is part of us. Oghren, of course, you already know.

And then there is Nathaniel Howe. I will admit that I was not prepared to forgive him for the crimes of his family, but he has made it impossible not to. I have grown exceptionally fond of him, despite the dark circumstances that I met him in, and I certainly hope that I will remain friends with him until the Calling takes us both.

The only thing missing from this keep is you, Leliana, and your absence is dearly felt. I cannot expect you to give up whatever it is you’ve been doing these past months, but if you have the chance and the will- if your Grand Cleric business is entirely completed- come be with me. Schmooples can sleep in our room. (And I’m certain that my companions would adore your stories, if you would tell them.) I hope I do not sound too pathetic, but it is still hard to be without you. I fear I rely on you- you and Alistair- too much for my own good. It is undeniable that I have not been at my best, even with all these people who I care for, and it has been… difficult to sleep.

And in case you forget it while I am away: I love you.

With all my heart,

Iseult Cousland.

The last lines of ink dried on the paper, turning from glossy to matte under the insistent warmth of her firelit bedchamber, just as footsteps faded into Iseult’s awareness. She turned, a smile already encroaching at the edges of her lips.

Nathaniel. A presence she’d once been cold around, but as time had worn on, had become a comfort. His blue eyes took in the room with only an archer’s, a ranger’s, alert interest, before landing on her letter. “Am I intruding, Commander?” Her smile grew. She turned in her chair, the movement so much lighter than what she was used to, her body for once bereft of the silverite armor that weighed down every step. “No, I had just finished. And Nathaniel,” she added, meeting his eyes gently, “we’ve been over this. You can just call me Iseult.”

“If you insist.” He walked closer, his height towering over Iseult- already small, and even smaller seated- and glanced at the letter. “Who are you writing to? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Iseult rolled up the letter, sealing it with wax imprinted by the Cousland heraldry. “My wife.” Wife; the word was still pleasantly unwieldy, perhaps not official but full of everything she couldn’t say.

He smiled, a subtle thing that would have seemed insincere to anyone who did not know him. “Will we ever get to meet that woman, I wonder?” Iseult let out a small laugh. “Oh, I do hope so.” Examining him again, something called to her in his stance, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “Did you come to see me? Or is this a patrol?” He’d taken to pacing the keep; whether from habit or as a way to combat his thoughts, she couldn’t tell. This seemed different, but then again, despite her attempts at understanding him… he was not exactly the easiest person to read.

“I meant to ask you something,” he said almost nervously, sitting down on her bed with eyes that darted everywhere.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Of course, Nathaniel. Anything.”

He let out a sharp breath- of relief? Of preparation?- before opening his mouth and letting out a stream of words much too fast for Iseult to understand.

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” “The elf. I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I want her to like me, I think,” he replied, only slightly slower than before. “How do I make her like me?” Iseult’s eyebrow quirked. “Well…” She trailed off for a second, then stifled a giggle. Of course. All the ‘my lady’, the compliments, the way his eyes followed the woman when he thought no one was looking. She’d been right. “In my experience, you’re usually supposed to tell her that you like her.”

He gave her a look that was something like nerve-wracked exasperation. “But what if she doesn’t like me back?”

Iseult pursed her lips. “Then you give her things until she does.”

“That seems immoral,” he protested.

Iseult shrugged. “Velanna’s prickly. Show her you like her, and- wait.” She suddenly stood up, pacing back and forth in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back. “You did mean you like her in the ‘you want to kiss her’ way, right? Not just as friends?”

He nodded, and Iseult echoed the movement. “I see. Maybe you could tell her that. I think most people like to be kissed, even the prickly ones.”

“But I’m a human. Didn’t you hear her talking to Anders the other day? She said she found most humans physically and morally repulsive.”

“That’s true,” Iseult conceded, “but didn’t you hear her apologize to you?”

He made a noise of consideration. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Well, we don’t have to be,” Iseult pointed out. “Just go talk to her.”

“Come on, Iseult,” he sighed. “Was I being too forward? When I called her lovely? You have a wife. You should know this.”

Iseult frowned, slowing to a stop. “Nathaniel, Leliana and I met while attempting to stop an archdemon, and we only became closer because I was forced to kill someone who looked exactly like her while in the Fade. We are hardly an example of a normal couple.” Studying his face, she added, “But I do not think you were being too forward. She told you to stop that time, and you did. I would call you the picture of chivalry, but…”

“But what?” “Well, you did try to kill me once.”

He scoffed and looked away, then sighed. “Thank you. I suppose I should try... something.”

“That is, generally, the better option.”

He got up and left the room, and Iseult followed at his heels, letter in hand.

--

My Leliana,

Most likely I will not send this letter; it has been only a day since I sent my last one, but I feel compelled to write down the events that have transpired since then, and I am unsure of how else to do it. Perhaps, if you do come to the keep, I can give you them then, as a primer on the dynamics I have discovered.

Did you know that Nathaniel Howe likes Velanna, in a kissing way? He came and asked me about what he should do. I’m very flattered, since I am eight years his junior, that he would seek me out for advice, and seeing as I am at least a little bit sure that she likes him back, I have decided that it is my duty to make lovers out of them. Is this what you mean, when you say you serve the Maker?

(I’m joking, my love; I know it isn’t.)

I will update you as developments continue.

Yours,

Iseult Cousland.

With a small snort of withheld amusement, Iseult put down her quill and stood up, quickly maneuvering to hide it behind her when someone kicked through her door. Immediately, a violent urge surged through her. Darkspawn? Or worse, a betrayal from inside the keep? Her hand flew to the sword leaning against her bed, but when her visitor appeared- a brightly-colored, flushed Velanna- she relaxed. The look in those eyes was panic, yes, but Velanna didn’t panic when faced with a fight.

So Iseult could only conclude that Nathaniel had acted, as she had advised him to.

“Walk with me, shem,” Velanna demanded.

Iseult smiled wryly, slipping the letter into the drawer of her desk. “Okay, my lady.”

Velanna froze, her eyes wide and her cheeks quickly coloring, and she grasped Iseult by the sleeve, dragging her through Vigil’s Keep to the bemused stares of many of the soldiers. “How-did-you-know-that!” she hissed under her breath the moment they were alone.

Iseult blinked at her innocently. “Know what?” “You shem are so infuriating,” Velanna growled. “I need to speak with you.”

Iseult smiled, trying not to look too pleased with herself, and nodded.

Velanna sighed, producing a squealing chicken from Maker knew where. “What is the meaning of this?” Iseult choked on a laugh. “What?”

“Nathaniel gave it to me yesterday, then started saying something about how chickens were sort of like me, and then he got distracted and left.” Velanna searched Iseult’s eyes. “What does it mean? Is this some sort of shemlen custom?”

“Oh no,” Iseult mumbled to herself. “Oh, Nathaniel.”

“What does that mean?” Velanna was practically shouting with frustration, and the chicken squawked, flapping away from her and back to the ground. “What does any of this mean?”

It would probably be easier to take the metaphorical bull by the horns, but thinking of Velanna, and thinking of Nathaniel, Iseult quickly determined that this was a matter best left to them. During the Blight, Alistair had been the only one who knew her feelings about Leliana before Leliana did, and Iseult knew she would have killed him if he’d told. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“You- you can’t just-”

Iseult was gone before Velanna could finish her sentence, and judging by the chicken that ran out, terrified, after her, she could only assume it was for the best.

--

My Leliana,

It has been almost two weeks since Velanna’s surprise meeting with me, and I still worry about what has happened between her and Nathaniel. They have been especially cold toward each other whenever I have brought them out together. I think that Velanna may have considered his attempt at an advance an insult, and Nathaniel has taken that as a rejection. I am going to have to wait for another opportunity to attempt to put them together, and as it is, my attentions are better focused elsewhere, at least for the moment.

Vigil’s Keep is currently having its first sunny day since I arrived. While not as warm as some places I could mention, it is undeniably pleasant, and I am at last able to write outdoors. I wonder if your suggestion about roses around the Keep would work. We do need some morale to spare. Our soldiers are hard at work repairing the Keep, and we have taken heavy losses; a flower or two might be just the thing to cheer them up.

Yet, even as the sun shines and I spend my days in no danger, extracting help from various nobles and guarding the Keep, I find it bittersweet. The sun reminds me of you.

Suddenly, a voice cut into her concentration, and Iseult dropped the quill, sending splatters of ink across the page. She cursed softly and looked up to see Anders, his ever-faithful Ser Pounce-a-lot draped sleepily over his shoulders. “Commander!”

She set the letter aside and smiled up at him. “Hello, Anders.”

“What are you doing sitting against the wall? Shouldn’t you be out doing Warden-Commander things? Come on, let’s go find the nearest darkspawn and beat them to death with your sword.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, as they always did, and Iseult only gave him a half-smile in response. “You’re awfully quiet today. Something got you down? Is it Nathaniel? I keep telling him, his whole brooding thing is going to put people off.”

“Nothing in particular,” Iseult replied. “Not Nathaniel. Well- not entirely Nathaniel, anyway.”

Anders must have taken the wistful sigh that she released after that in a way she most certainly did not mean him to, because he gasped comically loudly, his hand flying to his mouth fast enough to startle Ser Pounce-a-lot, whose blue eyes flew open. “Warden-Commander, are you in love with him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s handsome. I know I would go for him, if he weren’t so dark and dismal all the time. But didn’t his family kill yours? That’s a little scandalous, don’t you think? A little bit spicy? Just a tad? Ooh, or maybe the forbidden love drives you to him?” He wiped away a fake tear. “Go to him, Commander. Follow your heart.”

Iseult watched his performance with amusement, and when her silence finally caught up to him, he paused, giving her an opportunity to interject. “Anders, I trust that you know I’m married.”

“You’re what?”

“To a woman,” she finished. “And I do not care for men, not in that way.”

He stared at her, then slowly began to nod. “So what is it, then?”

She shook her head, trying not to let too much melancholy show. “Many things, really. Our soldiers flag, our Keep is still damaged. And, on a more personal note-” she pretended not to notice his eyes lighting up at that- “I miss my wife, and despite my efforts, Nathaniel and Velanna seem destined not to be together.”

“Oh, wait. If you’re married, does that mean we might finally have an explanation for the woman no one’s seen before in the courtyard?” Iseult’s heart leaped into her throat. “I’m afraid I have to leave you, Anders.”

“Oh no! I feel so betrayed,” he called after her as she raced to the middle of the Keep. “Never forget me, Commander! I love you!”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she glanced around the dull stone exterior of the Keep. No red hair; she breathed out.

Then a pair of hands covered her eyes, and she shivered in barely-contained joy, the feeling of those fingers so familiar. “Did you miss me, Issie?” Leliana’s beautiful, beautiful voice murmured into her ear, and Iseult could not reply with any method other than whirling around, cupping Leliana’s face in her hands, and kissing her deeply.

The soldiers around her took notice. Some laughed, others cheered. One particularly unruly recruit yelled “Get it, Commander Cousland!” from the back, but was quickly hushed by her peers.

They separated, and Iseult pulled Leliana into a tight embrace. The recruits collectively aww-ed, but she was only aware of the woman in her arms, the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Iseult exhaled deeply, her breath tangling in her wife’s hair. “Oh, my love, I’m so glad you came.”

“How could I not?” Once again, they drew apart. Many of the personalities around them had lost interest by then, a development that left Iseult some measure of relief. “You were so very convincing in your letter. Can Schmooples really sleep in our room?” “Anything to keep you here,” Iseult replied.

Leliana cocked her head with a devious smile. “Now, I believe you had some companions to introduce me to.”

“Oh, I most certainly do.” Iseult smiled back at her, intertwined their hands, and set off for the keep with a new spirit in her step.

--

Dear Fergus,

Thank you for your letter, dear brother, and I trust that you are doing well. As for me, well, you know that your baby sister has been up to her eyes in work ever since that fateful day that I became a Grey Warden; that has not changed with the end of the Blight, nor with the defeat of the Mother. I am not sure what I hoped for. Heroism, I suppose, is a lifelong profession.

I must confess, though, that I am happier now than I have been since the night Rendon Howe the night all this began. I am surrounded by friends, Leliana is here with me and seems to be enjoying herself immensely, and the Keep is finally beginning to become itself again. Perhaps even stronger than it was.

I hope that Highever is prospering, and I do hope to return to it as soon as I can. Do not worry; soon enough, I am sure that you will wish me once again out of your hair.

Love,

Iseult Cousland.

With a last swell of effort, she heaved the stone into place. Sigrun glanced at her approvingly. “Hey, nice job, Commander.”

Iseult grinned at her. “Iseult, Sigrun. Just Iseult. And thank you.”

“You know, you should do this more often. We might actually get somewhere.” The dwarf’s tone indicated that she was only half-joking.

“You’re a skilled rogue, Sigrun,” Iseult responded, putting her weight behind another stone. “I will admit that I don’t quite understand why you’ve taken such an interest in restoring these walls.”

“Eh. Brings me back to my roots, I guess,” Sigrun answered with a shrug. “Anyway, get that last thing in and I bet we can call it done for the day.”

In response, Iseult shoved with all her might, feeling several protests from her body but still managing to place the stone. She stepped back and shook out her arms, admiring her handiwork. “I’ll be feeling that for three days.”

“Just three?” Sigrun laughed. “Some of these noodle-arms still haven’t recovered from their first day.” She slapped Iseult’s bicep appreciatively. “Good to know not all humans are just weak sacks of blood.”

“And what would you consider yourself, Sigrun?” Iseult tapped her chin in false thought. “I seem to remember that you were the one who fell down a flight of stairs and got approximately a hundred bruises.”

“Hey, no fair! I died and didn’t complain about it,” Sigrun protested.

“You died metaphorically,” Iseult answered, ruffling Sigrun’s hair. Despite their differences in race, Iseult stood only a few inches taller than Sigrun, a fact neither of them let the other forget- Iseult because she was, at last, taller than one of her friends, and Sigrun because Iseult was the smallest human she had ever met.

Sigrun sniffed the air around Iseult and made a face. “You need a bath.” “So do you,” Iseult replied. “This isn’t exactly a leisure activity.”

A soldier bounded up to them, and Iseult quickly straightened back into her Warden-Commander’s posture. “Commander, there’s been a darkspawn sighting to the northeast. You may have to head out and take care of it.”

Iseult nodded. It was bound to happen eventually; what few darkspawn there had been, the patrols had taken care of, but they were ordinary soldiers, and they had their limits. Perhaps this larger party would point her toward wherever they were coming from, too. “I’ll take Velanna, Nathaniel, and Leliana.”

Sigrun caught her eye. “Aww, you’re leaving me behind?”

Iseult smiled apologetically. “We do need someone to defend the keep.” She whistled sharply, catching the attention of Nathaniel, who she waved down. “Get Velanna! We’re going hunting.”

He immediately gave her a look of excruciating pain, but did not argue.

Smiling to herself, Iseult tracked down Leliana, and by the time the party left, the air was fraught with a certain sort of tension she had never quite experienced before.

The lands around Vigil’s Keep bustled with activity. Merchants towed their wares toward the Keep in a variety of methods; hunting parties pursued herds of animals through the wilder parts. Still, there was very little sign of darkspawn. The party plunged into the forests around it, deeper and deeper, fast approaching the mark on the map.

Examining the map again, she turned her horse to face Nathaniel’s. “Nathaniel, you’re a tracker. Do you see any signs of darkspawn around here?” “None,” he answered. There was a tightness in his face, his knuckles white around the reins of his steed. “It’s quiet.”

Iseult went still. The only sounds around her were Leliana’s humming and the whickers of the horses. The trees seemed to hold their breath around her.

This was all wrong.

“Ambush,” she found herself saying. “There has to be an ambush.”

“You’re right,” Velanna responded. “The forest is never this quiet.”

Iseult urged her horse into moving, but before it could, it dropped to its knees under her with a pained noise.

A massive hurlock raged toward her. Iseult reached for her sword, only to find that it was gone. Nathaniel leaped off of his horse, taking aim and firing at the monster, but his arrow glanced off of its thick armor, and he fell back, taking aim again.

Leliana darted toward Iseult’s fallen horse as Iseult herself stood frozen, preparing for the impact of the hurlock, and sure enough, it slammed into her within seconds. If anything less than her silverite armor had stood between them, it would have caved in her chest. Breathless, she looked up at its towering height, her nerves steeling, and with all the power in her body, she kicked it in the groin.

“Hey, that’s one of my tricks!” Leliana beamed, slipping Iseult’s sword into her hand in an instant before rushing for the hurlock.

Still staggering from her attack, it roared. Vines whipped around it, crushing its throat, and it fell to the ground. Iseult nodded appreciatively in Velanna’s general direction.

More hurlocks and genlocks poured from the trees. “Fall back!” she called to Leliana. “Protect the support!”

They retreated to the aid of Nathaniel and Velanna, themselves overrun with darkspawn, and remained in tight formation. Leliana’s flashing knives, Iseult’s flaming sword, Nathaniel’s flying arrows, Velanna’s booming fire. It was a thrill she could never forget.

Claws assaulted her armor. One particularly hardy set carved two messy lines through the breastplate, and Iseult swore under her breath, thinking of the look Wade would surely give her when he saw it. In retaliation, she sent her sword plunging into the offending darkspawn’s chest, and it crumpled to the ground with a hiss.

The tide began to thin. “Come, my brethren,” growled an impossibly low voice. “Kill them all.”

“Creators, I thought we were done with these!” Velanna said in a strangled voice from the back.

In the darkness of the trees, a glimpse of sharp teeth and black eyes far too intelligent for its kind.

Iseult turned to Leliana as the wave of enemies broke for a moment. “Can you handle this alone?” “What? Why?”

Iseult glanced at (presumably) the leader. “Let me cut off the dragon’s head.”

Leliana smiled wildly. “Go get him, Issie.”

Iseult breathed out, and in a rush not unlike the one she’d taken toward the Archdemon a year ago, her feet pounding on the soft dirt of the forest floor, she aimed herself toward the darkspawn-shaped shadow in the foliage. Everything she had, everything she was poured into her veins, lighting her nerves on fire. “Come here, you wretch!” she shouted. It barely turned toward her, but in the seconds it had taken her to speak, she had already run her sword entirely through its body.

It hissed and crumbled, reducing to nothing. The darkspawn surrounding the other three of her party fell back with confused sounds, and from the rear of the party, Nathaniel and Velanna picked them off one by one.

Iseult breathed in and out, and in again. It was over.

And something was wrong with her chest.

She hadn’t been paying enough attention.

The pain made itself known. She scraped at her breastplate, managing to get it off despite her shaking hands. Blood seeped through the fabric of her tunic, rapidly staining it red, and when Iseult lifted it to examine the wound, it was deeper than she could have expected. Stretching from her right collarbone to her left hip curved three slashes, clawed into her by one demon or another. She honestly could not remember which one it could have been.

Either way, as her hands came away from the wound stained with blood, Iseult’s attention was fixed on them. How long had it been since she’d last bled like this? Her legs weakened, and she sat down, feeling more blood drip from them with every movement.

“Issie? Are you-” Leliana’s eyes caught the gouges, caught Iseult’s bloodstained hands, and immediately, the color drained from her face. “Oh, Maker.”

“Not… that bad,” Iseult said, voice straining. “Just need a… poultice.”

Leliana turned around. “Velanna! She needs healing! Please!” The elf walked over slowly enough that Leliana was nearly crying by the time she finally arrived. Iseult sighed, her breath too shallow. “It’s not that bad.”

Nonetheless, Velanna’s hands glowed green with healing magic, and when the light diffused into Iseult’s body, the bleeding stemmed, and the pain went from a lashing knife to a dull ache. “Don’t die on us now, Commander. We still need you to keep those darkspawn at bay,” the elf offered, her words surly but her voice touched by a hint of worry.

“Yes, I love you too, Velanna,” Iseult responded with as much of a voice as she could muster.

Velanna scoffed and walked away.

As soon as Leliana had checked that the wounds were no longer quite so vicious, she leaned down, kissing Iseult almost ferociously for a lingering moment. The warmth of her, the undeniable softness, grounded Iseult, as it always did. “I am not losing you to something like that,” Leliana whispered when they broke apart.

Iseult laughed weakly. “You won’t.”

Leliana helped her to her feet, and with the strength she had left, Iseult made her way to the other two members of their party, the ruined breastplate dangling by its straps from her hand. It was so inconsequential, the simple ability to have someone to literally lean on, but as Leliana continued to cast gentle, worried looks at her, Iseult could not help but let some of the glowing incandescence in her chest form into a smile.

All this luck… she could hardly comprehend it.

A soft rustle in the trees broke her train of thought, and she glanced around the surroundings just as one last hurlock broke through the greenery, heading straight for her. Before she could even open her mouth to sound a warning, a form separated it from her.

The monster’s claws tore open Nathaniel’s arm. Only a second later, it was dead, strangled by a mass of vines thicker than Iseult had ever seen them. Velanna’s teeth were bared, her hand outstretched, the last vestiges of mana still shimmering around her fingertips.

“Nathaniel!” Iseult immediately cried out. “Are you-”

He nodded as if it were just a scratch, even as the blood poured down his arm. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” Velanna snapped. Sweat beaded on her face as she dredged up, somehow, enough power for another healing spell, but nonetheless, the flow of his blood thinned.

“Let’s get back to the keep,” Leliana said, helping Iseult onto her horse before mounting her own. As impersonally as she could, Velanna did the same for Nathaniel, and the half-smile he sent her did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Iseult urged her horse into a run and barely felt the pain in her chest.

--

Dear Alistair,

I was injured today, and it made me think of you. Oh, that doesn’t sound right. I mean that it made me think of the time we had together, during the Blight. Despite everything, I must admit that I miss it sometimes.

Do you remember all of our escapades? Wynne sitting us down and giving us a long talk about the dangers of a man and a woman making love, only to realize that us sleeping together was sleeping and nothing more? The time you made me hide bugs in Zevran’s shoes, and my confession of it mere minutes after the fact? The adventures with the dog?

You make it easy for me to miss you, my dearest friend. I know that I am partially to blame for that, what with putting you on the throne, but not a day goes by that I do not wish you were still here with me, with no other complications.

If you can, come and visit Vigil’s Keep. It will do you some good, I’m sure, to see the rebuilding of the Grey Wardens. Really, though, I am only being selfish: I long to see you again. Besides, I am sure that there is a diplomatic, kingly reason to visit the Keep. Or there will be, if you look hard enough. There are a few people I think you would like to meet.

With love,

Iseult Cousland.

The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing along the walls. Iseult smiled softly to herself, folding and sealing the letter before placing it carefully on the desk.

“Come to bed,” Leliana coaxed.

Iseult slipped out of her everyday clothes and obliged, curling into Leliana’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. “It has been a surprising day.”

Leliana hummed in agreement, running her fingers through Iseult’s hair. “I worry for you, Issie.”

“Why?” Iseult replied, a bubble of laughter in her voice. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yes, of course you can. I just…” She trailed off. “I find myself thinking about the future. Our future. I know we’ve discussed it before, but- what about children? And what about after that? What happens if you get injured, and Maker forbid it, what if you die?” The laughter in Iseult’s voice evaporated, replaced with soft sincerity. “Leliana… we aren’t facing a Blight. Whatever tries to kill me now is almost definitely going to be less dangerous.”

“But swords are swords,” Leliana interjected. “I was a bard. I have seen the nobles and warriors alike killed by simply turning their eyes away at the wrong moment.”

That night ran through Iseult’s head for the hundred thousandth time. Her mother, strong and unyielding. Her father, brave and wise. Both of them dead by a sword in the back. A chill ran down her bones, and she let out a defeated breath. “I know, my love.”

“Just be careful, yes?” Leliana’s voice was softer now. “I don’t want to have to say goodbye. Not ever again.”

Ah, yes. The archdemon fight, when no one knew if they would make it out alive. Iseult’s body tensed just thinking of it. If the Maker had mercy, nothing like that battle would happen again.

But this was here; it was over. She let out a breath and allowed herself to relax. “I promise you won’t have to.”

A moment passed in silence. It was a moment poised elegantly between peace and sleep, covered with the gauze of approaching fatigue, yet still entirely lucid.

Then, Leliana let out a giggle. “So, that boy and his elf friend?” Iseult grinned into her wife’s shoulder. “You noticed?” “He rather reminds me of you, with all those stares.”

“I was never that obvious,” Iseult objected. Or at least, she’d thought so.

Leliana’s smile widened. “Oh, please. You and your poor, pathetic puppy eyes. I swear you turned pink every time I so much as spoke to you. You were anything but subtle.”

Iseult blushed, and ignored how it completely proved Leliana’s point. “And how did you pick up all of that?” “It was part of being a bard, remember?” Leliana pressed a kiss to the top of Iseult’s head, leaving a spreading warmth. “Besides… I loved you too.”

Iseult began to drift, but still caught the “and still do” that Leliana added.

She slept with the warmth of arms defending her from the shadows of the past, and she dreamed of a future full of stars and old friends.

--

Alistair,

I am unsure as to why I am writing this letter at all, because the impetus for my writing it was that I heard you were undertaking a journey here. I will see you soon in person, I am sure, so there is truly no reason for this letter to exist. Still, it calms me to write to you. I can imagine your face, what you would say to me, every time I do.

Leliana likens me to a mabari; she says she can practically see a tail wagging in excitement as I watch for you from the battlements. Nonetheless, I am certain that your journey will take you a while. An insufferably long while, actually. So, in the meantime, I must busy myself with work around the keep, of which there is thankfully more than enough of. Two weeks since my last letter, and every day has been a wait.

Until I see you again,

Iseult Cousland.

The sun shined down upon the keep, catching the silver of Iseult’s armor, stained only slightly with darkspawn blood from the hunting earlier, as she once again stood in front of the ever-challenging Velanna. “All I’m saying is that you two should work something out. If you continue to-”

“Dance around each other,” Leliana interrupted her.

Iseult pushed back a grin. “If you continue to have such heated arguments during our outings, then it does pose a risk of interrupting our dynamic, yes?” “Then perhaps you should not put me in the same company as such an infuriating shem!” Velanna practically bellowed, shooting Leliana, who was still wearing a little teasing smile, with a look that could have cut glass. “If he persists with all of his my lady and his… enraging little compliments I swear on the Creators I’ll-”

“Velanna,” Iseult said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “will you at least talk with him? If it truly upsets you so much, I am more than certain that he will back down. He is a good man. He may be just trying to show you respect.”

“It doesn’t upset me! That’s what upsets me about it!” Velanna’s ears immediately turned bright red, and she stormed away without another word.

Leliana tilted her head at Iseult. “That went well, I think.”

“She certainly revealed a few things I think she didn’t mean to,” Iseult agreed.

They nodded at each other. “I say another week,” Iseult added.

“A week? You’re mad. I say it takes them three days.” Leliana’s eyes suddenly drew to the gates. “Oh- Issie! Look who it is!”

Iseult squinted at the gate. A glint of gold, a shimmer of blonde. A thrill immediately pushed itself through her. “Alistair!” As quickly as she could, she began to take off her armor, Leliana’s gaze only growing more amused as her movements became haphazard.

“Do you really have to greet him like that every time you’re apart?” Leliana said, one eyebrow raised.

“Commander, I-” Nathaniel froze upon seeing the scene. “Commander?”

“Yeah, what is she doing?” Anders appeared from behind him.

Leliana smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see.”

“Is he wearing armor?” Iseult asked from the depths of her own.

Leliana took a moment to make it out. “He is. And it’s his fancy King of Ferelden armor, too.”

After one last moment of fumbling with straps and metal, Iseult finally extricated herself from the enormous pile of metal. “Oh, this is going to hurt.”

Three gazes followed her as she took off in a whirlwind sprint across the courtyard: two utterly bewildered, and one extremely amused. “Alistair!” Iseult called to the man across the courtyard.

His head snapped around to see her, and he opened his arms, grinning widely. “Sei!”

With one final sprint and a mighty leap, she jumped into his arms, embracing him tightly. Sure enough, the impact of her body on his massive, superfluous armor- or rather the impact of his armor on her- pushed all of her breath away, and she had to wait a moment to regain it. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you! I’ve missed you so much!”

“And I you. Why did I let you talk me into becoming king, again?” He returned the embrace with as much vigor, until suddenly his grip loosened. “Ooh, people are staring. Do you think it’s acceptable for a king to-”

“Alistair Theirin,” Iseult said, only partially joking, “I haven’t seen you for far too long. Let them stare.”

“Oh, all right.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose that getting to hug my best friend after an eternity away from her isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

She laughed, then caught the eye of a nobleman who was somehow horrified, disgusted, and confused at the same time. “Although if you don’t put me down soon, those rumors will start up again.”

“Ugh.” Reluctantly, he placed her back on the ground, and they both assumed their authoritative postures once more; hers of a Warden-Commander, his of a king. “Commander Cousland, I believe you owe me a tour of the keep?”

She bit her cheek to stop herself from beaming. “I believe I do, your majesty.”

--

“So this is important business, hmm?” Anders asked, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow significantly above the other. “I’m not complaining, but…”

“Do kings do nothing but sit around and drink?” Velanna snapped.

Iseult raised a finger to hush them. “This is important business. Raising morale.”

Nathaniel laughed from behind a mug of ale, then covered it up with a cough.

Oghren just burped loudly. “You kids don’t know how to have fun.”

“Oh, I think I know something that’ll raise morale.” Alistair, much less imposing without his golden armor, shot Iseult a dangerously playful look. “Want to hear the story of how your Warden-Commander once climbed into a tree and wouldn’t come back down because she had seen a snake? In her full set of armor, by the way. The tree could barely hold her.”

Anders looked at Iseult in disbelief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he took in the fact that she’d turned bright red. “Now this I have to hear.” He sat at the table, chin resting on his fist. “Please, go on.”

“It wasn’t even a snake,” Alistair continued. “It was a rope that her dog had chewed up.”

Velanna scoffed and sat down too, pretending not to be interested. Iseult buried her head in her hands.

“Aww, you were so stupid,” Sigrun cooed, slapping Iseult on the back with surprising force.

Leliana chimed in from the other side of the table. “Ooh, or the time that a nobleman asked you two how long you’d been married.”

Alistair guffawed, ruffling Iseult’s hair. “She had no idea what was going on.” He remembered something else, perking up again. “Or the time Wynne tried to give us the baby-making talk.”

“Or the time she fell asleep standing up in her armor, and no one noticed until she tipped over,” Leliana added.

“Or the time she-”

“Haven’t you damaged my reputation enough by now?” Iseult groaned, half-serious.

Alistair shoved a drink in front of her, stronger-looking than anything she’d seen in weeks. “Here, this should make you feel better. Leliana, do you remember the time you put a fake spider in the corner of her tent, and she broke a sword trying to kill it?” Iseult removed her head from her hands, picked up the drink, and downed it all.

“Woohoo, Commander!” Oghren shouted. “Look at that, she can drink.”

“Speaking of drinking, did she ever tell you about the time she drank too much and cried because, and I quote, ‘snakes don’t have legs’?”

Iseult poured herself another drink and downed that one too. The fuzz of a tipsy stupor began to rapidly descend on her.

“What about the time she sent the mabari to get a stick, and instead, he came back with Sten’s blade?” Leliana giggled.

Nathaniel patted Iseult on the shoulder. “I’m so glad I didn’t kill you, Iseult.”

“If you were really my friend, you would distract them by telling everyone here about your feelings for Velanna,” Iseult responded.

She realized too late that she had said that at full volume. The table fell silent.

“I’m beginning to regret not killing you, Iseult,” Nathaniel said, his jaw tightening.

“Your what?” Velanna squeaked, her voice going suddenly high.

Sigrun began to laugh hysterically, sliding from her chair to underneath the table.

Leliana broke into a broad smile, getting up from her seat to drag both Nathaniel and Velanna out the door. “It sounds like you two have some talking to do.”

The door slammed behind them. For a moment, the room was completely silent. Anders peered through the window. “Give them a minute… and they’re kissing. Well, that was fast.”

Iseult sighed. “He’s never going to forgive me. Now who am I going to ask to be my surrogate?”

“Your what?” Anders yelped.

“What’s a surrogate?” Sigrun mumbled from under the table.

Alistair let out another loud laugh. “That reminds me of the Morrigan incident. Leliana, did I tell you how she-”

Half of Iseult wanted to sink into the ground and never be seen again. The other half of her was too happy, surrounded by friends and firelight, to even consider it.

All this luck…

[erasethedarkness]

Ooo, for those random sentence starters can you do “Are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?” With all might? Your writing is such a joy to read 💖

Aloha, All Might Anon! I hope you enjoy this scenario! To be honest, I’m glad that I didn’t go with my original idea for this prompt, because this was a lot more fun and exciting. (My original idea was a romance with a reporter, which is a cute idea but I think this panned out better!) 

Hero in Distress -Day 4 | First Kiss / First Date-

Summary: Bad luck, again. That’s what you were chalking it up to. You weren’t a bad hero, you just had awful luck, and now you needed to be save. Fortunately for you, only the best came to your rescue. Unfortunately for you, you lost track of how many times he had saved you in recent events and you were completely smitten. To make matters worse, you were stuck without your quirk for a few days thanks to the villains who caught you. But it was alright. Why? Because All Might was there. 

Theme Song: Madness - Muse

Reader: Gender Neutral

Words: 1363

I can’t get these memories out of my head…

Like most people with romantic ideas and inclinations, you became a hero to help and save others, not for the fame or money. Because of this, you were loathe to admit that you were in a god-awful situation. Going from hero to helpless, you were absolutely screwed. If someone didn’t show up soon, you’d be done for, and the irony stung bitterly.

In perfect timing with your thoughts, the cell door flew in, slamming backwards into the wall and then hanging off its hinges. You gasped, staring into the dust at the unmistakable silhouette.

“All Might!”

“I. Am. HERE!” All Might’s powerful voice boomed, carried over the commotion that was en route. His body took up the door frame, standing just as tall and with his shoulders spanning the width. The mammoth of a man strutted into the room, his cape flying behind him until it settled at his ankles again when he stopped before you. Effortlessly, he took the chain that tethered you and pulled it loose from the ground, then much more delicately broke it free from your wrists. You gazed up at him with wide eyes- ecstatic that he came to rescue you and mildly surprised by just how gentle he was able to be.

“Are you alright?” The words interrupted your swooning, and immediately your admiring eyes hardened to fit the scene.

“As alright as it gets at this point,” you confirmed with a nod, stepping past him to the doorway and looking at the incapacitated guardsmen. You didn’t even hear a struggle break out- was All Might just that fast and precise? …He was the No. 1 hero, after all. “I’m not going to be of much help to you right now. My quirk’s on hold for the rest of the stupid week,” you informed him crossly. “There are others in the same predicament. Let’s go.”

Even though your quirk was out of commission for the time, it was no excuse to stop being a professional. You were still able to be of tactical value to All Might as you two cleared the building together, especially since you had the inside scoop to give his strength an even greater advantage and did your best not to slow him down. More importantly, you kept yourself in check so you didn’t swoon again so openly. This wasn’t the first time he came to your rescue like your own knight in shining armor- it seemed like your strokes of bad luck kept him coming to save you. Which time was it now? The fourth? Fifth? The first time was enough to have you head over heels for the pillar of justice, and every time after was like an extra cherry on top.

By the time the building was cleared, police cars surrounded the perimeter and waited for All Might’s mark. Once the two of you surfaced on the roof and he gave his characteristically cheerful thumbs up, the police squads stormed inside to arrest the passed out villains and help the hostages. Finally, this nightmare was over. All you had to do now was stay out of trouble and wait for your quirk to return.

“You know, we really should stop meeting like this,” All Might teased you with a lighthearted tone. He stood, as if posing still, with his knuckles on his hips, but leaned towards you, giving you his attention now that the chaos was dispersed.

“Ha!” you scoffed, turning from him and beginning to walk away. You had to play it cool. This wasn’t the time for warm fuzzies and feelings. “I’m giving you job security at this point. Regardless, thanks for saving my ass yet again, All Might. See you around- hopefully not like this,” you laughed a bit at the end. It may have seemed sarcastic, but you really did appreciate him.

“Are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?” he called out to your back.

You stopped, turning around to look at him with your brows furrowed in skeptical confusion. “You must be mistaken. I don’t have a question to ask.”

“Then was there something you wanted to tell me?” he persisted.

“Not… in particular.” You shook your head, your expression questioning him. Sure, you could confess your feelings, but that wasn’t on your agenda for today. The hero leered at you, just as doubtful as you were of him despite that broad and cheeky smile.

“(Y/N), I can tell you’re holding something back. It looked like there was something on your mind while we took care of things.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and leaning your head back until your breath was finished, then looked at the hero. “That part’s true. You really want to know?”

“Of course. If I can help you, I would be more than happy to!” His answer was so earnest, it brought a subtle yet enamored smile to your lips. Was he really oblivious?

“Alright, well… there’s something I wanted to give you. But you can’t look, so close your eyes. Oh, and sit down, would you?”

Somehow, he managed to look confused with that happy expression plastered to his face. You raised a brow, challenging him to either accept or not find out. So he sat down and closed his eyes, listening to your footsteps as you walked over to him. At this point, it seemed like his curiosity was just trying to provoke you. So, why not?

Your footsteps stopped in front of him, and for a moment you stood still, teasing him and making him sit with his anticipation. A smile grew on your lips as you looked at his face, admiring him. The stress of hero work was chiseled into the lines of his own smile, defining it even more. Your hands came up to his cheeks and gently held his jawline, guiding him to lean his head back slightly. His surprise was evident in the way that his lips lost their smile, no longer pulled back in that grinning expression. He would have said your name or asked what you were doing, but you didn’t give him the chance to. With closed eyes, you kissed him with candid ardor, letting your hands slip from his face, arms resting around his shoulders.

To your surprise, you felt his massive hands cradle your back as he pulled you closer to him. You pulled back from the kiss, cheeks hot with a blush as your eyes met. He was smiling again- but it wasn’t that big, toothy grin he gave the world. It was soft and sincere, without the weight of having to reassure everyone that things would be alright, and it was for you alone. All Might brought one of his hands to your face, his palm able to cup half of your head if he wanted, and gently guided you closer again. His arm around your waist helped you sink into his lap, leading you to sit on one of his thighs as he kissed you in return.

“(Y/N), there’s a question I’ve been dying to ask you.”

“Hm, what is it?” you asked, looking up at him as your blush began to subside.

“How about next time, we meet on a date?”

The question made your heart skip a beat and flutter. The blush that was finally beginning to fade came back in full force, your cheeks red as the hero unabashedly beamed at you.

“Well… I’ll have a few days off of heroics since my quirk’s suppressed. I suppose I could make time,” you teased with a chuckle before kissing him again, still smiling as your lips pressed together. Without warning, he lifted you up, and you clung to him a little closer, arms still around his neck from before. “A-All Might?”

“As romantic as planning a date on a rooftop is, we should at least pick a different one,” he joked, reminding you of the scene inside. You gave him a smile of affirmation, and with that, he wasted no time in whisking you away.

…some kind of madness has started to evolve.

[tenjouu]

mulan-esque (3. mousse atlas // 1.36k) 

“And here I thought you genuinely enjoyed my company,” Mousse says with faint petulance. He lowers his teacup, and with it, his saddened gaze. “You were just after my position all this time.”

In the most literal sense. Ranks are hereditary in the Red Army. For a man to depart from his family tradition is practically unheard of. Mousse was born to be the Red Ace. You weren’t born to be in the army at all.

“Don’t say it like that, old friend,” you say placatingly. “I’ve never enjoyed your company.”

Mousse gives you a hurt look, but breaks character immediately after to chortle. “I’m sure that’s why you’ve hung around me this entire time. Too bad for you. I like you too much to give you this position.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you protest.

“Which part? Me liking you?”

“I’m qualified,” you say, ignoring his persistence.

He knows you are. That’s why he likes you. Because you’re one of the strongest people he’s ever seen—determined to serve your country and protect the people. You remind him so much of the old Red King. 

And you keep the greatest secret��a biological truth buried so deep that sometimes, he wonders if you ever think of yourself that way. You probably don’t know that he knows. You’ve worked so hard that he wouldn’t have known—if not for the night he finally got you to drink with him as a friend. 

But he supposes it doesn’t matter. He would’ve liked you for your charm and ambition regardless of gender.

And he really just likes you too much. He never held any genuine love for the army, but your firm ideals convince him that the country is in good hands, and that maybe, sometimes, the army is worth serving. But the title of Ace is far too red for someone so brilliant like you. You would be taking on centuries of bloodstains. No noble family is free from skeletons in their wardrobes.

You fight in the rawest, purest form, for the most upright reasons. Being Ace doesn’t suit you.

“It’s barely my decision to make,” Mousse confesses. “The most I can do is commend you to the stuffy old men on the council. And they’re already infuriated with me.”

Pretty true. Jonah threatened to flay Mousse next time he stepped foot in the barracks, which is exactly why he invited you to Blanc’s house, under the pretense of final farewells—but also, he just wanted to see you one last time before crossing the sea.

“And by extension, they’re infuriated with me,” you sigh in understanding. You’re far too intelligent for him to slip anything by you. “And the hearing would be a nightmare for your public image.”

For a number of reasons. 

It’s clear that through your five years of both riding and dying together that if he were to pass the position to you now, there would be questions asked. Favoritism. Old kings would honorarily knight their male lovers. That sort of thing.

It would make people wonder, especially since you present as male. Mousse doesn’t have too many problems with that. He knows old noblemen will be as close-minded as they are wont to be. He’s just not sure what would befall you in the barracks if the men came upon such gossip. He doesn’t want to find out. 

And Edgar has him convinced that there’s someone else equally eager to prove himself out there—a so-called protege of Edgar’s, so to speak. He has the same wildness in his swordsmanship as you.

“I thought I would ask,” you say with a shrug. “It was worth a shot.” You offer him a tired smile.

“I’ll offer you a onetime deal,” Mousse says. “Being Ace is boring. And you like political matters, for some godforsaken reason. Why not join me as a diplomat? There are other governing bodies in this world whose institutions are vastly different from Cradle’s. You could take inspiration from them and pass it on to the King. I’d adopt you as my protege. Just say the word.”

“No,” you reply, lips quirking up mischievously. “You’re already a protege yourself. I’m not demoting myself to the student of a student when I’ve already worked this hard.”

He knows it would be selfish to ask you to leave this place when you’ve given over everything—even the basis of your identity. You’re already doing well as one of the thirteen anyway.

“I thought I would ask,” he sighs, parroting your words back. “It was worth a shot.” He gets to his feet. It’s time for you both to get back.

“It would’ve hit true in another world,” you reply, standing too.

For a moment, he thinks it might be your wit telling him to keep dreaming. But when he registers the wistfulness in your tone, he blinks at you. Does that mean...?

“I wouldn’t wish to presume,” Mousse begins casually, keeping in step with you to the door.

“Don’t presume then,” you answer him, eyes glittering in amusement. You at last give him a warm grin. “I’ll miss you, old friend.”

“I really do like you, you know. It would be a shame for us to let this chemistry go to was—“ He leans in close, but you place your palm on his face and shove him away.

You truly have the strength of a man. It’s actually devastatingly attractive.

“You’re weird,” you say, but you’re still smiling at him from what he can see between your fingers so that’s one thing. “Always saying that you really like me, that you’d court me if I were a woman.”

You remove your hand from his face. He’s acutely aware that you’re taller than him. And when you pin him with your thoughtful gaze, he stays spellbound. He knows your hands are calloused like any soldier’s hands are. Sometimes, he wonders if you were meant to be a man after all—and wow, right now is not the time to be questioning his sexual orientation.

You give him a soft laugh. “That’s a good look,” you say.

“What look?” he asks.

“Your dazed expression,” you say. “Like the dimwitted look you get on your face when you’ve just woken up after napping irresponsibly.”

“Dimwitted,” he splutters, taken aback. And here he thought you’d finally realized that he was actually objectively and conventionally attractive. “You’re talking about someone’s face here, you know—!“

“If you come back as an accomplished diplomat, maybe I’ll be the one to court you,” you interrupt him. “You’re the shorter one, after all.”

Mousse groans, for lack of a better response. He doesn’t care who does the courting. He’s not averse to being courted, but he’s also not here to get teased by you. He wants to be the one doing the teasing here.

“You’d look good in a dress,” you continue, “though loathe I am to admit that I’ve thought about this at all.”

He gives you an annoyed huff. “Don’t underestimate me. I’d wear one for you,” he retorts. “I’ll become the best diplomat you’ve ever seen. You better keep your promise. Else may glory run sable through your treacherous veins!”

Surprised by his sudden vehemence—you blink at him. And then you give him a smile that he’s never seen before.

“Okay,” you tell him fondly. “When that day comes, I want to tell you something then.”

“You don’t have to wait. Feel free to say you’re in love with me any time.”

“No,” you deadpan. “Something more important than that, dormouse.”

“What could be more important than love?” he asks you earnestly. (And in his tone—he’s so serious about it that you wonder if he already knows. Mousse is the type to surpass boundaries and convention anyway.)

“Evidently to you it’s sleep,” you reply, and the moment’s over.

“First my face, now slandering my good character,” he says. “See if I want to be courted when I come back!”

“I’m confident,” you say simply, and with a strong arm slung around his shoulders, you pull him out the door.